He Gave Me His

As I stood
In the kitchen,
I stared into his eyes
As he yelled at me
About something inconsequential.

I reached for the chef’s knife,
New, sharp, deadly.
His eyes opened wide,
Fear drained blood
From his face.

Starting from the clavicle
Ending at the belly button,
I dug deep
Ensuring to cut the bone.

Like a surgeon,
I opened the ribcage,
Moved aside the lungs
And found the heart.

My heart
Beating in my palm,
Warm, squishy,
Beating.

I presented it to him.
For the first time
That evening
He was quiet,
A hush drifted around us.

No matter what,
Even though we argued,
Even though we didn’t see
Eye to eye,
He will always
Have my heart.

And that evening,
He gave me his.

Disclaimer: Please don't try this, this is all about poetic license.