Teardrop

From a tip we’re drawn,

lines curving from another

until we touch again.

 

Does that point bend up

in a heart shaped fixture.

Or does it just sag?

 

A bag taught, bloated,

and falling like a cartoon.

Or skinny, as if a tear down my cheek.

 

Lingering on my lips.

 

Am I a salty ocean? Are you a damned river?

Bursting forward to surge into the sea

where you’re instinctively licked up,

 

pulled back in.

To start my water cycle anew.