Your tattooed torso is a weathered 
altar & I am drunk, so I lay
my back on top of your belly
and take the knife I bought for 
you, slicing my body from neck 
to navel, allowing the muscles 
to separate and my blood to 
spill and pool upon your chest.
Breathing deep, I slide my hand
into the freshly carved cavity,
grabbing my tangled intestines,
untying them, arranging them
neatly in our bloodied mess. 
Only then, do you allow me 
to splinter my sternum and 
anxiously rip out my heart 
where I’ve stored my damning 
confession, a confession that you 
reach for, cradle, and swaddle  
with tender, red-stained hands, 
and softly lay next to your head
where I’ll watch it spoil and rot.