Orchestra/Esophagus

I've always wanted to make a home in your ribcage

and play your lungs, expertly, like an instrument.

A piece to play, in contempt of an empty space --

I wonder how, with notes and tone, to portray your temperament?

I've wandered from your sternum to somewhere that your skin

casts through a red light, glowing, and illuminates your thorax.

I saw how your bones terminate; a muscle, a wrist-pin,

and how your tendons rise, in tension, and very soon relax.

I've seen how every nerve and cell allies with your spinal cord

to gossip amongst themselves, to scream, to dance, to sing.

I've watched your stomach lurch, and gape, and suddenly move forward,

to see if it can fit elsewhere, and what the mouth will bring.

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