For S

The heart is only an organ:
anthropomorphisation of the flesh
is just another lie
                   but
poetry doesn’t need truth:

My heart speaks to you
& my skin dreams of you.
Harmonic shivers* slither up my spine
whenever I think of all those times we
spent together.

My fingertips have memories
of what we did to each other;
my liver is in mourning, my
veins keep flowing
     as my spine
                is shivering.

* Shivers – Against Me!