I am an  imperfect man.
and she has a beautiful perfect 
transparent heart
of which she lets me
hold in my rough hands.

Her heart is warm to the touch
never cold, for inside of it
it's full of fire,  a fervor for life
I see  burning bright, for her heart
is made of the most pristine glass
I see through it clearly
to the flickering flames within
that dance and dance
always before my eyes.

Yet I am flawed, and my 
seeing leaves me sometimes blind
at the warmth and wonder of
her heart I hold in my hands.

I wish her heart to never break
nor the one to be the cause of 
the breaking. 

I hold it delicately lest to crush it,
yet not too firmly for it to slip
from my hands
I hold it with a willful assurance of self
as I marvel  at  the magical
glow that pervades from 
within.

Her glass heart is stronger than it
seems, more than she even knows.
Tougher than any Titans mighty
blows could wrought asunder.

Her glass heart's unwavering 
transparence
mesmerizes my eyes, for it is true,
so very true  straight to
it's core.
and beckons for me  to hold it
for all the rest of my days.


by Philip Wardlow , August 31st, 2022