David A. Goodrum

Open Valentine

slice my breastbone
unfold my chest wide

loosen my liver from its cage
feed morsels to your raptor

wrap my bypassed heart
in a waxpaper veil

boxed on the nightstand
next to a clock without hands

shave my skull and savor the wafts
of sulfur from burnt locks of hair

let my lungs air out near the window
drain my bile with a rain chain

mix my blood with red maples
my marrow with pearl dye

to paint over your face and eyes
render my stripped carcass

to carrion scavengers
preserve nothing

David A. Goodrum, writer/photographer, lives in Corvallis, Oregon. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, The Inflectionist Review, Passengers Journal, Scapegoat Review, Triggerfish Critical Review, Tampa Review, among others. Other publications include a chapbook, Sparse Poetica (Audience Askew, early 2024), and a book, Vitals and Other Signs of Life (The Poetry Box, mid 2024). See additional work (poetry and photography) at www.davidgoodrum.com.