Something they call

Last night, I operated
a complex surgery
performed with precise words
and finely-tuned tones

I severed the ties of pride
burned the ends of lust
collapsed the dams of fear
and watched the future wilt

With every slice and stitch
the whole body flinched
but the disconnected soul
was too far gone to tremble

Until nimble fingertips
prised loose their heavy prize
writhing and slick with red
throbbing like a tempest

Something they call love

And the sound it made
detaching itself from me
tumbled into the dead air
echoing with a shallow gasp

And in that one breath
I knew that this,
this separation of souls,
would certainly leave a scar

They say this type
of removal should be done
only when numbed
by some higher power

Something they call love

But I have yet to find it
lurking in shriveled veins or
hovering as a shadow behind
the moon-slivers of my ribs

~~~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~

All the cool poets are doing it... <-- More Poetry Temporary Soundtrack: "Early One Morning", a traditional carol.
Quote Trapped in My Head: "No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true." - Nathaniel Hawthorne
What I Learned Today: What a chiasmus is.