Permission

If you eat your heart, it says,
Then can I have your hands?
They are more useful by far,
making, breaking, taking all
they want. I shake my head

and wander through the leaves
as it attempts to compromise.
Ok, your eyes then. Not as useful,
but they still glow and pierce
and you won’t need them as a

window anymore. I mean, they’ll
just break and where does that leave
you? Around the stomach I think.
I trudge on in silence through the
floating colors to the black door.

It’s smooth reflection shines back,
and I stare at it for a while.
You’re going off topic, it complains.
What about me? What about what
I want? I grasp the knocker and pound

twice. The sound carries through
space, and I wince at the echo. It
seems amused at my attempt. You
wouldn’t possibly give me your lips,
would you? My eyes narrow, and I

grab the knocker and pull. Nothing
moves. Blood rivulets spring at my palms
and flow along my straining arms. I
finally let go and return to staring.
In the very least your ears?

They’re mine! I scream. It’s mine!
I slam my sticky palms to the entrance
and the door swings wide. Permission
granted, I breathe, and move through.