I forgot to knock and just walked in
and saw your heart was on the floor
naked as could be
so I blushed and went to shut the door again
but you stopped it with your foot
and asked me
if we had met before,
and if it was me that you had seen
dancing in that hurricane last night
the one that shook the windows with angry fists
and braided the telephone wire into the trees.

And I told you,
I said,
yes,
yes, that was me,
though I don't recall if we have met
before.

You stooped and picked your heart up off the floor,
dusted it on your shirt
and I saw that it was worn and heavy
but you didn't seem to mind.

Shall I draw you a floor plan of my brain?
You pulled a notebook out of your back pocket,
and there upon the page,
in felt-tipped purple pen
was a picture of none other
than myself.

We have met before,
haven't we.

Sweet and sticky love like jam
crusted on the Formica
has always made my skin crawl;
I like people better
when they can disagree with me.

Will you hold this for me for a moment?

Your heart,
it wasn't nearly as heavy
as it looked.