It always surprises them that blood is warm
They expect it to be cold
When they slice, when they stab
They expect my blood to leak like a long-abandoned puddle of rainwater
But it gushes
It is a life-force
Attached to me
Directly pumped from my heart
It coagulates on their hands and they grow angry
Why is it warm? Why is it thick?
Why does it have weight?
Why does it stick and stain?
Why doesn’t it evaporate like transparent tears?
Why doesn’t it come off without painful scrubbing?
Because it is me.
Because you haven’t speared through condensing steam.
You have killed me.
And I beat warm for you.
My blood, my life-force carries my love
And it is hot.