The cold warmth of a heart

Serve my heart on a plate,
But first devour the stone
it wears.

Mind the wings that grew on it,
Cut them into pieces,
But keep them in a jar
and stare at them
every morning.

Tickle my soul
with your fingers
but never hug it,
never kiss it,
just knock it
because it’s a door.

Enter but don’t leave the door
opened
Because there might be robbers
every night
you leave.