Overbrim

The funnel tore.
The hours pour and spill
Across our countertop
Too fast,
A mess
That drips onto the tile floor.

Your gleaming eyes,
Blue pools by wintertide snow drifts,
Your liquid skin refusing to freeze
To ice.

How do we slow down
This cascading of daystreams
When we fall in love again?

- 3/12/25

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