It’s the longing that breaks the heart,
That wistful ache that burns hallow and cold.
Hiding pain away in the pit of bellies,
Hidden under the armor of ribs,
Inside it’s human carapace cage,
The heart will sometimes hide.
The turtle knows it’s ache,
And why he hides in his shell.
His heart was lost once, too.
The heart contradicts itself,
Skinny dipping in gilded sorrow,
laden with hope- still.
As a soft oil painting, love worn but forever on display,
The heart will always look.
Glue patches filling its craquelue technique,
Overstretched too many times.
Not patient enough to be silent.
Yet my heart stretches itself forever for you.
Those silly elastic heart strings don’t understand,
That you are a turtle too.