I need a part replacement.
A cork to fill the aching cavity
my soul has been pouring out of.
I catch its pieces in mason jars
I keep lined along my windowsill.
As daylight hits the vessels
tiny sun-beam explosions,
like waves, wash over them.
It cast rainbows across
my skin, each a fragment,
a tiny memory,
of the magnificent glory
it was when I was still whole.
I want each one to run
like waterfalls cascading
down my throat
catching onto each other
and reforming on the decent.
I want to drink myself back together.