He wore his heart on his sleeve
because secretly he was afraid
that, leaving it in his chest cavity,
he might forget he had one at all.
Also, he wanted it to be seen
by all and sundry; the intricate
delicacies of it. He was
fickle enough to believe
that he had the only one.
So the wind blew and
the days grew long and old
and married each other and left
for warmer, less inhospitable climes.
His sleeves became ever
dirtier, coated in the this
and that of life. He was
no fan of change but the
frost was thicker every year.
He used to turn up his collar
on the walk home. He wore
large hobnailed boots of
the blackest skins. His eyebrows
were trimmed neatly.
Nice, I live in fear that the title might actually be true
Nice image heart on sleeve for fear it might get lost inside him.