Matthew Cocco is currently attending Pennsylvania State University as a junior with a recently found passion in writing poetry.
A Heart and its Home
Love can be like playing cops and robbers, hearts
chasing those who abducted their feelings–putting
them into custody behind the ribcage where sanity seeps through
the cracks. Thinking love is a Manhattan high-rise filled with red
carpeting, when it’s a nap on the couch with John Williams
conducting a symphony of snores in the background.
Mistaking your beauty with a designer dress, when it really lies
in a messy bed at four in the morning. Fireworks
and confetti don’t follow the first kiss, but a dire need
for chap stick. Quotas for restless nights per month.
Many play the piano with their lips. Others hold back tears
like window screens. Some randomly drive to escape
reality like a schizophrenic convict on Alcatraz. I scale
the crumbling mountain in your mind, and gather thoughts
like the highest bidder in the emergency room. Tattoo
your face on my eyeballs, so I can take snapshots
of your smile with my right pupil. Soft stares catapult
into ribs, splintered toothpicks break through and inject
the heart with thoughts of you–pirouetting in my head–
like a rocket-fueled carousel funneled into a tornado.
I circumnavigate your lungs like Magellan,
just so I can spend every breath with you.
Voyage across the minefield in your chest; witness
Atlantis breach the ocean’s surface or UFOs breach
the skyline. Load that shot glass with 750 mL rounds
and hunt in that cardiovascular crater. Take shots
at a Grey Goose against chalkboard walls until
the mind is held hostage–like some sick game
that can’t be won with a bowl of soup.