A Confession

Tumblers tempt me—
their smooth skin,

how they fit so perfectly
in your hand, the way

sunshine sparkles in their eyes.
When empty,

you long to fill them.
When full,

to draw them to your lips
and quench.

I can’t help searching
second-hand stores for them

those discarded beauties
seeking new partners

to cradle them, to taste
of their experience.

Explain to me
how to resist the allure

to lift them up, worship
at their stemless feet,

wait for the overflow.

Published by asaur