Into Small Cups. A Short Poem.

The feeling is not for the faint.

Of heart is not weak, for the soul.

Is not falling ripe, we are.

Intertwined no more.

Your eyes no longer seek mine.

But my aorta screeches for yours,

Begging, crawling, searching, clawing.

The walls are too thick,

The glue holding us together is slime.

It leeches, lurches, and leeks,

Through my guts and at your seams.

But I can't seem to plead

Loud enough are my screams

They take you away, fighting you

Pulling you further and further

Out of my reach.

My face flows rivers, curling

Heavy and breaking, my hands trying

To catch entire rivers into small cups.

Two small cups will never be enough.

Who said it had to be enough?

My face flows rivers, hot and heavy.

My heart, breaks.

Shattering like glass, pieces go every where

I try to pick them up into small cups

Two small cups will never be enough.

Who said it had to be enough?