Waiting to Be Picked Up

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



any time.





Ariel

Nov 14, 2013



This was a November Poem-A-Day prompt.