Pop!

Nestled in amongst the driftwood
beneath the grafittied rocks
in the company of beach fire ash
and scraggly beach grass
a blotch of wrinkled red
a deflated heart-shaped balloon
a gap in its seam that seems intentional

Did she stomp on it?
Did he sit on it in disgust?
Was it torn asunder on a jealous tussle?
“My heart!”
“No, my heart!”
“I need it!”
“I need it more!”

Pop.

Recently it has seemed to me that my heart is broken
overwhelmed
a tug of war within me between fire and ice
between passion and dignity
between the ruins of my past
and the disintegration that surely lies ahead of me

My poor heart
shriveled
abandoned in the sand
as my warring partners finally stumble to their neutral corners
panting
bloodied
finally gazing at each other, rancor draining away
leaking out through the gash

There it lies
waiting to be recovered
repaired
infused again with warm breath