When I press my fingers to my throat,
There is a tick tock tick, a metronome
Like the clacking of the keys when I wrote
The arches of my ribs are home.
When our bodies ache and yearn,
are those the stars begging to return?
And we are stardust, my friends,
and computers, but don't be frightened,
for our bodies are filled with wires,
and are limbs are moved by lightning.
So my heart will beat and beat and stop when it must
Locked in between stained glass and rust.
And we are cathedrals of being
with rose windows for seeing
calcium pillars will hold me
and my mind will be the key
my mouth the clerestory
I can sing the hymns, pro tempore
and with my heart the gilded apse
I will hope that someone claps.
We are orchestrated,
although there are no strings, no bows,
no brass, no woodwinds, no percussion,
we are allegros, adagios,
our lives are capriccio, and the coda isn't up for discussion
My heart may echo, it may falter,
It may beat far too fast,
but for the time I've spent in this alter,
It is enough to live in it to the last.

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