My heart drips away,

Hollow splashes in my stomach

a tune older than time, younger than yesterday

when I laid you to rest in the sky.

 

Pain is gone

Replaced by a worse, melancholy hum:

A tension headache wrapped around my intestines.

 

Here it is, my heart of devotion, arranged on a platter:

Stale bread and sour wine,

My body and blood given freely and left to rot.

My final, tarnished offering, displayed on speckled porcelain.

 

My estrella, where have you hidden?

Eyes crusted in eternal sleep

My heart calls to yours, a hum in rhythm with time

growing ever softer with each day you remain 

at home among your brethren, the traveler’s guides.

 

Find my flesh and tear it so I know

The sting of pain once more.

For hurt can burn and blister, but 

melancholy

It suffocates under a mask of healing.

 

And the timeless, rhythmic hum

Is realized only in its final, strangled beat.

My gift to you, estrella:

To discard my spoiled offering,

and smash my speckled platter.