I wonder what I’d do
               with eight arms, two eyes
                              & too many ways to give
                                             myself away

                                             see, I only have one heart
                              & I know loving a woman can make you crawl
               out from under yourself, or forget
the kingdom that is your body

& what would you say, octopus?
               that you live knowing nobody
                              can touch you more
                                             than you do already

                                             that you can’t punch anything underwater
                              so you might as well drape yourself
                                             around it, bring it right up to your mouth
                              let each suction cup kiss what it finds

                                             that having this many hands
                              means to hold everything
               at once & nothing
to hold you back

that when you split
               you turn your blood
                              blue & pour
                                             out more ocean

                                             that you know heartbreak so well
                              you remove all your bones
so nothing can kill you.

I’ve told him that when I die,  
he may sleep with as many women as he likes,  
as long as he will vow to sob post-coitally.  

I tell him first as I double-u my legs  
over his torso, pull the blue duvet  
around the lump our bodies make, 
and I tell him straight-faced.  
We laugh about it occasionally, 
our little death joke. 

The Egyptians believed the heart  
is where the soul is –  
slit the bellies of the dead, remove the still organs,  
but leave the quiet heart between its ribs,  
wrapping the arms, torso, slick, clammy skin  
tight in white. They performed  
the Opening of the Mouth ceremony, touched  
the mummy on the lips, eyes and ears with a blade  
so he could speak and sense, live again in the hereafter. 

You wrap me, strip over strip of our linen bed sheets,  
listen to my voice, provide me with a blade.  
I plea for you to keep me inside  
so that when you stop breathing,  
your heart will weigh no more than a feather, 
and when what remains is only stillness, 
we can pull open our red centers,  
and watch a sacred ibis unfold itself into flight.