Your heart has an open valve.
I climb inside and stitch its trapdoor.
Nameless corpuscles flit about
as I float, a blob in a skein of veins,
throbbing with you. I paddle upward,
catching wafts of men and memory
in your lungs, latching a quick ride
up your lusty jugular as you get up
from your bed. I feel your neck
as I slither deeper into your brain,
that squishy gray matter that creates
color every second of the day.
As you twist your head sideways,
I get tossed onto your optical nerve.
I crawl up to the shining window
of your eye. The warmth is blinding.
I peer out and see what you are doing
with my body naked for inspection.
You, too, have found my open valve.
Climb inside. My heart awaits you.