The price of my heart

Thus is set the price of my heart.

That I don't want to be a part of your life.
I want to be your life.

That I'm a beggar and still, like a king,
I demand to reign over that heart of yours.

That in sickness and solitude,
I bear the burden of your emotions.

That in morose somberness,
I deserve the right to make you happy.

That if you're a river,
you'll flow to me.

That if others gather for the quiet beauty of the river,
I'll tear my heart apart from your grasp,
and carry away the torn fragment, bleeding.

That though my heart is clay,
it values, for our purposes, the same as your golden heart.

That you own my heart.
Yet when you break it, you do so in quiet repentance.

That I am your king,
as much as you're my queen.

That I deserve to be the only singer
in your royal hall.

Thus are the terms laid.
Thus is the price set.
Thus I trade my heart with you.

My terms are tough,
but are the only terms I agree to
in trading this clay heart of mine;
for I have only one to give.

Price that I must get.
Price that you must pay.

Choose your bargain well, my love.
Choose your bargain well.

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This is the third poem in the trio of poems about hearts. Written this past summer.