Heart Like An Empty Bottle

Like plastic crinkled under foot in back seats–
floorboard litter with lipstick napkins,
and under beds lost with the left sock kicked off
between blankets on hot nights.

Like glass on window sills waiting to be reused–
heavy and strong even in its vacancy,
eager to hold those small and soft things
we so readily clutch in our chests.

Heart like an empty bottle tossed about on sun salt waves before a quick sink to the bottom.

Heart like an empty bottle ready to be full again.

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