I left my liver in San Francisco

I am reading Donald McRae's book about the first heart transplant. This was in Cape Town, South Africa, in the 1967, following a space-race level scurry by surgeons worldwide.

McRae complains frequently about the abuse the human heart has taken from poets and other creators of metaphor throughout history. Namely, it has wrongly been constructed as the seat of the so-called human soul, and this put law in the way of heart surgery for years.

The point being, I decided he had a point, and have set for myself the challenge of making a lot of metaphors using every other bodily organ except the heart and the throbbing canyon of the heartless chest. This is what I do when I'm bored at work.