I dissected my lover in a dream last night.
His face was grey-white but still charming.
I took my scalpel and cut from the pubic bone to the
Sternum, then with strong scissors cracked his chest open to reveal
His heart and lungs.

He didn't cry.
He didn't bleed or say a word.

Protected in plastic coat and in clinical
And dispassionate manner
I cut out
His stomach, liver and kidneys.
They all looked as anonymous as they should.
The stomach still with half digested food from Friday night,
The liver bloated and fatty from the booze,
The kidneys neatly round, no longer filtering blood.

It was a hard road to travel
To see a lover's interior design
And know him from
Another point of view.

His pride and joy now like a fallen leaf
Shriveled to a piece of skin.

His heart and lungs I put in a dish
To be examined at a later date.

Sawing away the top of his skull
The story didn't change.
Just an organ, impossible to decipher.
I left the heart till last.

Such a strange organ.
So many comings and goings
And so still.
It didn't tell me anything.

What else should I have known?
I would have sworn he loved me.