A Horrible Metaphorical, More of a Simile, Actually, Poem About, Of Course, Love

Love is like a balloon
And I digress that
Strangely
Unfortunately
Amazingly
And Obviously
The heart is also very much like a balloon.

Perhaps love is the air that fills this balloon
Inflating
Growing
Intoxicating euphoria of too much pure oxygen
Resulting in a stroke of the brain
Murmuring strange whistles of logical sense
That the air filled heart,
So expanded and drugged by this oxygen,
Refuses to listen by humming
An eccentrically annoying tune
With lyrics that would make even the most
Hopelessly romantic individual
Cringe in literary pains.

And what happens when air is released from a balloon?
Either an erratic zip through the air, raspberries all around, or
More painfully, a slow release with
High-pitched screams of torture
Which may or may not feel better than a sharp jab with a safety pin.
The slow release of the heart always has that last breath of air that lingers
Forever
Eternally
Perpetually there, in a particularly annoying,
But “Ah, nice memory, before…”
Kind of way.

The nice part of the slow, painful, release
Which most people forget, is that
The balloon still exists
And more air can be blown in
Even if the other’s air still floats around,
Lingering nearby as a memory.

Ay me, my heart
My
Oxygenated
Hopeless
Red
And sometimes blue
Balloon.

10/24/2005