My Cup

White-skinned hands grasp a glass of blue water
Early morning, I awaken to a shadowscape and taste my breath,
Which is soon obscured by the fragrance of fear between my teeth.
Dread occupies the small gaps in the surface of my heart.
 
Carefully, I grope in the dark to find my cup.
This cup dwells within.
I grasp it tenderly
As it begins to fill.
Soon, in the dark, in my bed, between the sheets
It overflows.
 
My cup runneth over.
 
Then, I remember:
This fear, this longing, these tears running over –
These too are a gift of love.
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