gould

the smooth convex of
freckles speckled on white shoulder
foreign as
unmapped venus
he suspects there is
a heart-shaped patch of hair
dyed rose red
below her waist line

but he is not certain

one day we will all atrophy
her little voice box said
and this was true

there exists an acid memory
to devour all short term memory
to know only acidity
a melody spinning like swans
and then into webs

it's always webs

her eyes are open
like second story windows
they're green
but not money green
and not envy
just
green

and she sobs

in a memory
crying how atheists cry
through a telephone receiver
only some thirty miles away
but it might as well have been eons

and deep down he knows

that it was an hourglass

it was never a heart.