Where do I pour this love?

It haunts me when I lay in bed,
begging to be whispered and held;
Sweet nothings? No— everythings instead

“Give me to him,
as he wants it,
needs it,
craves
it”

Who? Where? I reply,
before turning to my side.
I pour inward, and keep it aside.

Years go by,
                     drop by drop.
This will do, I decide.
                              drop by drop.
I’m no longer dried.
                                  drop by drop.
Overflowing; that’s no surprise.
                                           drop by drop.

Where else do I pour this love?