J.Gay

And my clockwork heart hummed.
You, artisan. Building

my body from scraps and shrapnel.
At night, your fingers traveled

your belly, digging deep
below the taut skin

whirring like cicadas as tissue
rendered gears chunked and clunked to life

until amazing precision. Until symmetry.
Something organic evolved not

rust over the heart.
The clean flow of movement, of discovering joints

brass hinges and knobs for the opening,
the hidden passages,

the endless pumping valves like shimmering
halls. The taste of copper on a bit tongue

as the mouth discovers the sweet musculature
of the word “love”.