Porcelain

Porcelain, like a heart, is surprisingly fragile.

If my heart is precious porcelain,
and love gravity,
it is falling in that mysterious force
while still beating inside me.

It tumbles through the rushing air
weightlessly carefree,
until it strikes the cold, hard ground,
shattering for all to see.

If my heart was precious porcelain,
and love gravity,
then the only opposition to that force
is the floor, reality.