I am the wrong vessel
for your hands;
I am too porous now,
fine line cracks have developed
from dropping too many times.
I carry the sweet wine you seek
but by the time you chose to drink
it has filtered out,
leaving only residue;
you waited too many times.
And like before, you blame the object;
this inanimate container that only wanted
your arms,your lips. I held
the sweet wine you wanted
that would have slacked your thirst
Nov 14, 2013
This was a November Poem-A-Day prompt.