Lesbian Poetry

Hearts of stone, a true story

I have just ended one of the major relationships of my life. My story was foretold by a little piece of stone, if I had only listened.

The piece of obsidian was formed from an ancient fire deep within the earth, volcanic glass. It was dark but shiny black. One day someone carved hearts into it, one on either end and hidden behind a third. This special shape revealed a rainbow of colors surrounding each hard heart, rainbow obsidian. It was unique beauty to hold and behold.

I found it in a store while with my special love. This was our perfect symbol, joining two glowing hearts. It had no price, had been set aside, it was not easy to buy. At my insistence the clerk found the number and rang the sale. I slipped it into the bra band wrapping around my chest. It fit perfectly over my heart, nestled between my breasts.

I opened my heart to charge it with some otherworldly love. I allowed an exchange. I received from it and it from me. This piece of stone took on my warmth. When it was full I passed it on to my love. She repeated the process. We were unaware of the prognostication, premonition and tears that were moments away.

As she took a few minutes to tend to worldly and natural needs, the piece slipped out. She had been certain it was secure. She was devastated as she watched the pieces hit the floor and shatter. She picked up three pieces. When she brought them back to where I waited, her emotions were blended despair and fear. She was so afraid and upset to tell me that this divine creation had met an end.

I put a good face on, smiled. Obviously we each are meant to have our own piece was my response. I turned away from anger and disgust. My heart had a large chunk broken out. I put my pieces together and wrapped them tight. In time I would glue it back together, have it nearly whole again.

I handed the other piece to her. She is free to do with it as she may.

When the two pieces come together they still fit in a special way, such a thing of beauty. I fondle my piece, careful of the sharp edges from the fissure. It is the one with the third heart hidden behind. A message of what is yet to come, some yet unseen love?

The words end and begin always rhyme.