Wouldn't it be better to share a soul,
to pass it back and forth
like a bottle of good red wine
under moonlight,
to drink deep or not as the mood
struck?
Wouldn't it be better to not choose
a soul mate, instead gain a half
by random coincidence because
maybe they like opera
and you don't, but you can live
with that oddity?
Wouldn't it be best not to worry
over your soul's imminent demise
and give up the whole heaven
and hell fantasy
as an old wives’ tale,
even though you're an old wife?
Sometimes it's better to disregard
a soul altogether,
and run up and down the picket fence
of the heart dragging a stick
against the slats until you end,
out of fence and eager for dinner.