Ostracism's Song To Pussycat

The foul breath of the lower mouth
Becomes a jewel
Jewels can't be cut
Except with special tools
You had to cut me open
I was so closed

The blood of a rose

Pick out all the crud that's in the eyes,
Shove out the mud around your heart,
Tear through my flesh;
Now there's nothing left

Of me

The foul breath of the heart
Is the best part

(As if a poem can be a key to that which contains buried treasure)