In that sweet primordial pause
before knowing, before knowing you
had that brilliant lub without whose cause
my sinus would but sing for two.
This small sound within the chamber mocks
with flagrant range the mistook letter which
does not describe the valve but more the knock
of passion greater than mere muscle twitch.
I have no way of knowing the golden disarray:
how you would stare at tiring light
pound the heart and dry the face
to distract the paltry vagal plight.
I had a hard time charting,
partitioning my time along
the plaques and disconcerting waves,
spelling out exchanges of the veins.
An artery protrusive in the wake
of normality overflown
swells in the quake of giving up
elastic chance to liquid throes.
A sudden meeting of a pulse becomes
null reverberations of the sternum:
the shared plate where sullen sinks
trace the face of this predicament.
The studded wall of your vibration
forms a constellation where the halls
of rogue eddies and emancipations
of excited bursts bear my many falls.
The tonic fire now subsides,
settles in the wash of flooded rooms
while your love lately follows the news
and lavishes in atrial blues.
I would be shocked to find the spout
of piping choking up with lust
coating the underside of coughs
and filling up the air with mitral doubt.
Your walk denies the hypertensive drive
of ventricles adapted to defeat
and though we seldom find our love alive
your dear resistance served its every beat.