Fractured

Poem

No sudden moves-
Can’t let a shard slip.

The vessel is barely carrying
The puddle I call Me, and
This glue, this glue
Is imperfect.
It’s makeshift composition:
Wine and approval
Pounds and clicks
Crushes that put more cracks
In the glass growing cloudy
With fractures.

Sparkle when broken.
This beauty is my death.

And it’s all I have left to give.

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