Leaving 3

I will join
every part of me
to you
if you just
say the word.
But
that word
will never
be said.
You could take
what you want
of me.
Tear apart
thought and deed
hope and desire
words and feeling.
Keep what suits,
discard the rest,
while I put together a life
from the junktable
of what’s left.
I would give you that.
But I can’t.
My heart
for now
still resists
the blade
that would carve off
the necessary pieces.
Because it still dreams
that you might
want it whole.
A bitter, acid dream,
a mockery of hope:
you might want me whole.

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