“Pluck my heartFrom my fleshAnd eat it.....”
“...I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs...strands of significance, traces of you in my life ...”
“If my chest grew cat hair, I wouldn’t know whether to pluck it or pet it.”
“It was as if every day a piece of my heart was plucked out by birds and carried away little by little.”
“My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the stuff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.”
“If you pluck out my heartTo find what makes it move,You’ll halt the clockThat syncopates our love.”