cute.

I see you drinking
a cup of warm tea
with chipped toenails
that scrunch your throat.

Your hand pour
the sand that looks like
pure brown sugar which
crunches between your teeth.

As you swirl it
it turns to black juice
with ****** veins
that clenches to your tongue.

Is that how you went ahead
and became so bitter?

We were on an occupation of
            relative discerning,
crossing every bridge of
                            relative conviction.

But the rights of a singular formation,
               doesn't hold the morality of
a solitary standing.
            The glass was half full on our side,
                                                  never spilling.


But on that side every motion,
                    sided with the tears
   that eroded the path before us.
   Could our convulsions be stained.

But we were stead fast,
                 walking forth.
             Here comes our shame,
             here is the shame of our noose
             of ignorance.

That a half empty cup of emptiness
had more meaning than ours
                                              half filled.
But we walked further than out tether.
  And a cup half full, pulled a bridge down
                         with a fortitude of conviction.

"Just because a cup seems mostly full,
         the tears of a mostly half empty vessel
  can hold more weight and pull any bridge
                  of wrongness down in simple volume"

I sought love.
Drinking from the cup of your hand.
I learned to replenish which you pour.
I made sure your hands were always full.
Continuing to hold what you've poured into life.
My life.
Finding a language stirred to life.
To confess what's on our mind.
It takes a steady hand to fill the gap of what's missing.
Your hand to my lips.
An ideal devotion to being our natural self.
Finding ourselves half full.
Our thirst softening the more we pour

once, while searching for peace,

comfort found me in the middle of the night.

It came in the form of cups of coffee and plates shared with friends I barely knew.

and under the yellow haze cast from overhead lights

we brushed away the dust of the long summer day

with talks of past mistakes and stories of things we've done.

with gossip and gospel.

on the ride home we talked about human nature

and the weather in Ohio

while through the windshield the moon illuminated the fog and threw shadows on the faces of sleeping backseat passengers.

looking back I realized,

that night, in those hours before sunrise

we constructed a whole new universe around each other.

I had a heart then,
but then the Queen drowned in a tea cup,
overflowing with complacency.
It’s delicate porcelain shape
a study in the emotionless.
A Jack of hearts slipped in,
To steal it all away.