If you laid your head on a chest you would hear the boom-boom of that person.
Every minute since, it would have pumped around each thought from its head to its toe,
each feeling to stretch its spidery hands into their veins.
Only that viscus kept them going, kept them in the race,
kept them in your race.
Missing a beat for a gasp or a breath but ticking right through each day and each night,
the life in them beating out time.
Their voice could falter or they could move their hand in a way you hadn’t seen before.
But their pulsing core you could rely on,
fierce and whole and how you felt it.
And it would throw its final hammer and they would take their dreamy break
from you, their world, from the body of their loves.
But the boom-boom memory of their heart against your temple
would still breathe.