Gentle Thief

I did not hear the turning of the key,
Nor feel the latch slip softly from the gate;
You walked into my quiet sanctuary
With steps as light as snow, as sure as fate.

No sudden tremor warned the empty chest,
No shadow fell across the sunlit floor,
Yet when you turned, an unexpected guest,
The steady pulse I knew was mine no more.

You took the red core hidden in my breast,
Not by the crude design of forced decree,
But folded in the harbor of your hands,
Where it preferred—above all else—to be.

I will not name it theft, nor ask it back,
For in your keeping, nothing suffers lack.