"Biopsy" surely makes my lips tremble.

Not as stunning as "malignant" or "metastasize,"

Still, it halts me in the whirl of endless life.

I couldn't bear it, except you told me long ago,

That if  a flaw was found in me,

No price would be too high to rid me of the thing.

You said that either

with breasts, ovaries, and hair,

or devoid of all three, you would still love me

Because they were just some of my parts

Not the essence of my soul.

That will sustain me regardless of

any weighted words the doctor

might hold out to us.