Courtship
She handed him his heart
after she found it amid the rubble on trash day.
He gave her eyes,
a pair she lost long ago on the beach
under the boardwalk.
She gave him skin pulled from the air,
cleansed and dried it
to replace the layers of back alley soot.
He was stunned by the purity.
She found hands for him, discovered hers
as she sewed them on his empty wrists.
For the first time in his life
he could feel and he then continued
to carefully assemble her spine,
spit shine every piece
and set it in perfect order.
It was a massive undertaking,
but he was inspired.
He attached it to her brain
and she perceived subtleties,
laughed and twisted her torso.
She attached his feet,
he stood proud and fashioned her hips,
buffing each piece in place,
they gleamed, renewed and working well.
Finally, she mended his skull,
closed the soft spot,
tended the wound till it was smooth all over.
He fastened her throat,
and attached her breasts.
She cooed, then oiled the tips of his fingers,
he wiggled them and mended her tongue
with a delicate silk thread.
She traced his neck with soft pink scrolls,
he sunk into place between her thighs.
Two souls discarded, they gasped
as they brought each other to perfection.
- © Michael Keshigian 2023
Michael Keshigian has recently been published in the Comstock Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Young Ravens Literary Review, and Jerry Jazz Musician. His latest collections, What To Do With Intangibles, Into The Light, Dark Edges, are available through Amazon. He has been nominated 7 times for a Pushcart Prize and 3 times for Best Of The Net.
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