The Chest

No walls beat; it is the heart within my own chest. Turn the key; open wide; you look a bit distressed. The pulse inside my own chest, a throbbing mess. Pick it up; won’t you massage it with finesse? Your lips are red and trembling dear; say something. Something seems to be amiss from your wan coloring. Surely you recall when you broke it; I saved it, Just so we might stroll heart to heart into the pit. Dear, don’t look so dully afraid; turn the music key; It’s our song. You don’t recall our breakup melody? I know the heart looks cruelly bruised and irregular; for a regular guy who’s tender, isn’t it spectacular? I know you’d curse, if your lips weren’t burning blue. Poor baby, it gets worse, you’re invited to a barbeque.