You killed her when you asked her how
it felt when Death leaned into her for a kiss
and she pulled away before he could take her
whole but late enough
for him to have a part apart from him
bruise her inside-out.
He must have sent you to finish
what he started. Un-etherized, she lay on the table-turned-
slab, where a minute before
–before the tables were turned, you dissected her with a pen.
She spoke your language so you could understand,
and you nodded your head. Why, then,
did you do it?
You did not
hear her screams.
I did, I
still. So still she was
when you ripped the cords out,
fixing them into lines, one note after the other,
like Beethoven who created what he himself could not hear.
Life. You created life,
but with someone else
‘s blood. Give and take; win
some, lose some. I am willing