In her heart just beneath her skin lays a tin pitcher.
The spout along with it's sides covered with frost from the coldest of water.
Parched lips long for a drink.
But without cup or glass.

I implore that I have swallowed fear of the utmost; Diving in head first.

A slow sip that eases the insecurity of rejection.

Another sip that interjects that you could be everything that I need.

One more to ensure that  I would gladly drown to be loved by you