What would be my happiness
If this heart had no one to beat for?
My heart, now fervent and capable
Of earnest beating,
But, if it were cold . . .
And lay in the icy stillness of my tomb,
Would it not thaw your waking days?
And freeze your dreaming nights?
And would your heart still flutter
Like hummingbirds among the branches?
Would it still do a ballet in your chest
Just for the merriment of it?
If your heart would still beat
With the steady ticktocking of the clocks
In the wake of my heart’s demise
I wish my heart ran dry of blood
So in my veins,
Red life would never flow again.