I only have so many hours left
And I will spend them all repeating this:
You stole my heart, but it's a merry theft,
A grifter's bargain, sealed with every kiss.
So I cannot be angry with you now
Although the metaphor has since become
Too literal for me: I can't allow
This present, when I'm dying, worn, and numb
To overshadow all that came before.
I cannot live without a heart, you know,
And it is in your hands, soaked in my gore.
But this is such a lovely way to go,
For you are here, and looking down on me:
There is no better dying sight to see.
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