Beaten

Why was the heart, with its throbs, aches,

breaks, and other metaphorical palpitations,

the presumed locus of love?

I should think a more fitting personal analogy would

place my heart in my patella,

for they’ve experienced very similar levels

of abuse.

Or why not the brain,

which gets credit for all types of smarts

but not emotional intelligence?

Could love not also live in the lungs,

where expansion and contraction

and absorption of invisible life forces occur

as quickly as a fresh romance, and which

occasionally culminates in breathlessness?

Might love not motivate the legs, that so often reach forward

without explanation beyond their own expectations,

and yet will fail equally unpredictably and

send us crashing to the ground?

Does love dwell in the eyes, so commonly seeking

contact with a complimentary pair?

No? Yes?

Could our number of eyeballs

form the basis for monogamy?

All these could be…

beaten

by the heart, which,

sending and receiving with miraculous determination,

is both the question and the inquirer

on a life-long

journey to

discover

another

itself.

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