Poem for the Day

Four Chambers

Your four chambers beat
yearning for words,
syllables strung together
in neat equations.
A + B= C
I was never good 
at algebra;
Always all
heart
    and
hands
    and
very little head.

In fairness
my lips are decoration.
My fingers have 
been caught
in a cat’s cradle 
    of color
for some time now.
I never thought 
you’d need them,
but I know now 
    this 
was my own ignorance;
my lack of eyes.

For you I am again
heart
    and
hands;
empty hands
with which to tangle your hair
and stroke your face
to show you 
    more clear
all the things
my lips don’t form
    and
all the things
you cannot hear
beating in my four chambers
in every cell
every minute
    of

every day.