That Broken Heart . . .
The promise was
that I was going to give you
my Heart.
I tried, you know...
But you refused every offering
in turn.
Here it stays,
within my flesh; unwanted,
dying slowly.
I thought:
What is wrong with this,
my Heart?
That you
would deny yourself all
this love?
Upon inspection
I see the flaws, the
minute gaps...
Where adoration
stressed the surface
so far...
And there
you saw that I
was imperfect -
Soft of heart;
not the glossy suave
femme fatale
who would
be more apt to glean
your desires
than one
such as I, with this
broken heart...
K.E.Cline, 8/4/97