Untitled

He took his heart out,
his soul.
He looked at it, examined it,
it wasn't much to look at.
And there wasn't much there;
just a little bit,
barely enough.
But he thought in his mind,
"It will do.
"It is bendable and moldable
ready to conform."
So he gave it to her.
---
In her hands it took another form,
adjusted to fit her shape,
her syle.
It fluidly flowed and morphed;
like a dance...
never stopping.
---
It's absence left a void
meant to be filled.
The hole ached and yearned; wanting
something of her.
---
She loved her gift.
Like a child with a new toy,
a treasure.
The heart-dance went on,
but was different now.
It was more solid, more firm;
and even growing some,
to meet the needs.
---
Some slipped through her fingers.
Did she see it?
She's stretching it now.
Is it too thin?
Will it break?
Will it snap?
She's only holding on with one hand.
What else is she holding on to?
---
It is on the floor.
Shattered
Broken
---
It wasn't much anyway;
just a little bit,
barely enough.
---
She offered to let him take it back.
He picked up the pieces.
She helped.
As he examined the pieces,
he knew his answer.
---
He stood there again,
as he had once before.
His heart in his hands,
his soul.
He looked at it, examined it;
it wasn't much to look at.
And there wasn't much there;
some was missing,
parts were broken,
there was
just a little bit,
barely enough.
But he thought in his mind,
"It will do."
---
So he gave it to her again.

(Just a little poem about love.)