The Pitsi heart.

In one of his many honeysweet dreams...
Pitsi was a cowboy.
He fought in Troy with warring joy.
He wore a silver  helmet with shiny, precious stones.
And no, Zeus, no, his face was never shown.
His muscles grew, and would you believe it, his swords were blue!
The war was won and Pitsi heard the chorus voices calling him home.
Kings and queens, soccer refs, azuki beans, all of them gathered on rose-petaled streets upon the victory.
They offered Pitsi olive wreaths, they offered pies and textured hearts and hi-tech, gadgets cuisines.
When bedtime came, Pitsi was blessed.
He let out a sigh, his eyelids closed.
And in a flash, morning had come.
The textured heart stood there, on Pitsi's chest.
That's how he knew.
The honoured hero self. The Troy deal. Victory meal. It'd all been for real.