sonnet

ancora

if that this simple syllogism will serve, then so:

my heart is like one of those figurines inside a snow globe.
it is on display but it is not easily touched.
also it is preserved inside fluid, possibly thicker than water,
and there are snowflakes made of a separate substance probably some type of plastic.
to touch my heart ergo requires breakage and spillage:
the equivalent of shards of glass, swimming in fluid,
possibly thicker than water, and white flakes of plastic
of some type, a definite no-no on the rug in the living room for instance.
when the shell's broke it will be exposed, yes,
touchable, naked, slick, still, mute, and totally
alien to its environment. possibly you'll still have a desire
to shake it and see the flakes moving about.
but the thing is it's solid, and therefore a mystery,
so you better be damn sure you want it. the end.