when my love pours beyond
the rim of the glass,
i won’t cry over spilt milk.
what is longing if not a drop,
pressed at once with cloth in vain.
let it run down the table’s edge,
a river of devotion.
and if it stains the wood, so be it
for what is love
if it leaves no mark?
let it rest in the grain,
a memory not meant to vanish
but to remind me, i once overflowed.
n.h.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 9:38 AM UTC
when my love pours beyond
the rim of the glass,
i won’t cry over spilt milk.
what is longing if not a drop,
pressed at once with cloth in vain.
let it run down the table’s edge,
a river of devotion.
and if it stains the wood, so be it
for what is love
if it leaves no mark?
let it rest in the grain,
a memory not meant to vanish
but to remind me, i once overflowed.
n.h.
