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?
There’s a soft, mushy center behind these hardened walls