lying on a cold, hard plastic tray
arms out, webbed hands spread
in oh-well surrender

eyes that say go ahead
I’m somewhere else
in a formaldehyde dream

open this slippery belly-coat of skin
I’m dead to the obscenity of
your scalpel and pins

feel free to pick
each private pocket
with your learning fingers

observe the color of my organs
so artfully arranged
remove the locket of my heart

slice it open and observe nothing
of my courting days
by the sacred pond

these private, earthly things
once treasured
cannot be stolen by your gaze