Take my cigarettes.
My small change.
Whatever bills you can find.
Take the olive and the dark flesh
    clinging to the pit.
My car and the picture
    of what I hope to be.
Take my ring and the finger in it.
The arms I use to cradle your head.
Take my natural appetite,
    its traces of animal musk.
Take the raw yolk and its clear wet lamina.
My fundus, my ligature
    my heart with its muscle-lined walls.
Take my manubrium, my xiphoid process.
My stemo-clavicular articulation.
Yes, take my nymphae and symphysis pubis,
    my vestibule and my fouchette.
Take my bulbi vestibuli—yes, go ahead
    my groove leading to infindibulum.
Take even my love if you must
    the tympanum that vibrates
    your delicate tappings.
And when I do give up the ghost,
    take its gauze for your naked bulb.
Use the remnant feathers
    as cushion for your bed.
Take it all. Take everything,
everything—