I know a man with a broken heart,
an incomplete mechanism;
missing a room or a hallway
like a slightly designed building,
but it works well and is very forgiving.
Another's is strong willed and persistent,
Big enough to fit everything in it -
the city, the forest, even the sea.
It can hold old and new flames,
it always turns blue when it rains.
His heart is red, right and appropriate,
driven by numbers and fancy theories.
After each storm, I listen to its orderliness,
its pace resembling the sound and the whole
you would expect from a very gentle soul.
Mine is transparent, made of ice and crystals,
slippery and fragile like a medusa
floating through forever changing waters.
My heart cannot always be seen,
but is there for those who know what I mean.