My heart was a square box,
but I put so much of you in it
it went all the way round.
Then atop it shrugged,
two rounded humps,
and at bottom
it grew
a point.
Now my heart is red,
papered round in lace.
It's an offering to you,
and I repent of
everything
I ever said about
cliché.
You
make cliche
come true, and mean
what it was always
supposed
to do.
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