I can feel
your tender palm
cupping my heart
a velvet pillow supporting
its burdensome weight
✋💚✋
Fingers individually
curl from beneath
barely contacting
only the pads of
the tips graze my bruised
pericardium sheath
✋💚✋
Right on cue
my torn ticker pumps
viciously leaping
no rhythm or beat
✋💚✋
Your expert pressure
dispersed with pleasure
careful handling keeps my
heart from crashing
instead you've gently
peeled back my layers
maintaining my pulse and
internal tempo
✋💚✋
until it starts to bleed
a clean sour green
like the squeeze of
lime ripened with the heat
K.B. Silver
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
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CH 16~ Gallant in Search of Goddess
The Prenticits’ villa was technically several miles outside the walls of Old Sanctville. Shipbuilders who rose to nobility in Killoran Meganti, the previous ruler’s reign, for their contribution to the Imperial Navy, the Prenticits have shipyards in every major port city to supply lifeboats and longboats. The original yard next to their Villa was a popular spot for Nobles to have custom regatta shells made. Their hands-on legacy was exactly the sort of thing both the Adremas and the Arsenaults found appealing.
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • 24 days ago
Comments (1)
That idea of the heart being cupped is strangely comforting - a trusting vulnerability. But the use of green at the end as it's squeezed made me squirm.