By Annie Abbondante

Read by Ben Phillips

To see the insides of you, they will have to pull you apart. The doctor is really nothing more than a soft-fingered explorer who knows his way around the black lumps and brown chunks of the human anatomy; he knows which juices squish out from where and why. He doesn’t know what a gift it is to hold your purple heart in his latex hands.

I would like to dedicate this love poem to Alice. Happy anniversary, sweetheart! - Ben

 

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