Pumping Red blood,
like a rushing geyser,
that’s ever-present,
sans accompaniment.
The heart of matters.
The muscle of love.
It beats for you,
believe it’s true.
Inside and within,
your love has been,
well-worn and ridden,
if even unbidden.
Though it is never forgiven,
it breeds love where livin’,
in the hands of another,
the eyes of a lover.
So never fear,
it is always near,
beating and pounding,
reddened and coursing.
Its blood is your life,
no matter your strife,
and it treats you well,
so treat it the same.
And even if, by freak chance
it be only your first,
always in love,
keep it well-versed.