All of my cups are constantly spilling over.
A clumsy barista,
I pour my love too much too quick –
There just aren’t enough cups in the world.
Porcelain, glass, painted ceramic,
Each one unique and beautiful,
Each one just waiting to be filled, as I see it.
Overzealous in my love for the beautiful,
For the fulfillment of a warm cup,
I barely pause between outpours
To keep it all from falling in the spaces between:
My love is spilled everywhere.
But not everyone is a coffee (or even tea!) drinker
And occasionally the brew is too hot –
Too strong –
Too bitter –
Too dark –
So while my love pours endlessly into the many beautiful vessels
Handcrafted and strewn about
I’m the lone attendee at my very own tea (or even coffee) party.
Perhaps I am due a hat.