Four different lovers gave.

Emotions twisted and sewn to one;

Lightning struck and it was done.

Hands caressed countless faces

With no recollection of the places

In which each met and fell in love;

Just some experiment;

Scalpel grasped in mechanical glove.

Pieced together;

Story told with eight beginnings

And by the time all is said and done,

Who knows how many endings…

Harvested from souls of lost and loveless

Memories torn from lobe and belligerently suppressed.

Three donors see in thirty six ways

But I’m only comfortable with one perspective.

It may be a task graded in praise

But love is not a collective.

No toy of the operating table;

Just because a heart beats does not mean it is able

To love in ways a true and whole human is capable.