a sestina

Dissected, chest sliced open, my heart
pumps life. I hand it to you, the man
who receives my impractical gifts.
I am troublesome, full of passion,
try too hard to give the greatest love.
You spurn this complicated woman.

I can not be that simple woman,
with garlands, not thorns, around my heart,
that woman to whom you can give love
with happiness. I desire you man-
handling my bloody heart, a passion
you do not understand. These strange gifts

are ignored, thrown out, not seen as gifts
wrapped in arteries, veins. This woman
gives them. My attempts to show passion
do not work. You deem my offered heart
unnecessary sacrifice. Man,
I only meant to share my life, love.

Are my needs too fierce for you? My love,
you deserve to be given these gifts
with no expectations for a man
who shares life with this puzzling woman.
I want to give you this open heart
with abandon, show you my passion.

My appetite for romance, passion
is insatiable. Your ardent love
fills many holes in my bloody heart,
yet I find I still grasp for more gifts
to make me feel I am the woman
you desire most, always, as a man.

I want to learn how to give a man
what he needs so he will make passion’s
claims on me. Mark me as your woman,
take this dripping heart offered with love.
I am uncertain what other gifts
to grant when you have my beating heart.

You are the one man I want to love,
on whom I bestow passion and gifts.
I, the woman with a bleeding heart.