I am steadily melting a slab of my heart.
I have sliced it open.
The application of heat should purify and serve
to clarify matters, all buttery and slippery.
Who knows what should rise to the top and what should settle?
Even spreading and ingesting of smooth words,
my blended truth
seems only to defy closure.
I am less than solid.
~ A. Locke 2013