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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Won't You Be My C12H22O11 ?

Were my heart made of clay
I could remake it every day
There would be no risk to falling in love
As that sucker is just a plug and play throw away

I could step up my game
And carve a heart-like likeness out of wood
Safe in the testing of forbidden desire
Or the risk of someone throwing it upon a fire

A heavy metal heart would be a little bit harder
As I would have to break out some real skill
But with enough bending and milling machines
I could manufacture a new heart every day that would gleam

A heart of water could be easily replaced
With a few sips of water I'd be good
Full of all the love possible in H2O
Perhaps with bioluminescent algae glow

Even now with this beating heart of meat
I could fix everything with some semi-choice cuts of steak
Glued together in the kitchen of an almost gourmet restaraunt
With all the Elmer's brand meat glue I could want

My heart could be made of anything at all really
I can make it, bake it, assemble it, craft it, and paint it
Until the whole thing beats just like new
Capable of equal parts pumping blood and feelings too

The one thing I would never wish my heart to be
Is made of stone
For then I would never have fallen in love
And spent my days companioned by cats and otherwise alone

Life without you in it would reek of the dead fish of emptiness
Without your love the years could only ever be bittersweet at best
A sprinkling of saccharin upon my favorite sour fruit
Never knowing the sweet kiss of real sugar upon my lips

Yet with the sad madness of suspecting
As remembering a half forgotten desperate dream
That you were out there somewhere
A honeyed flavor that makes me complete