1 bottle trust, still raw
from when I was a kid
should I fall, no need to look, for you would be there
your arms—solace
your heart—opened just a crack
I never wished to be anywhere else
(I should have looked)

1 ½ pounds self-worth, over the years
its loss quasi-imperceptible, as most are
a gaping hole to match, where my face used to be
was the only pattern throughout our photographs

18 oz guilt, all mine
piling up post-event, meaningless or big
you—immune to it
me—absorbing every drop
so I would never forget I couldn’t meet your demands
(I still can’t, dad)

1 pound flesh, ground
exposing to the bone just how different we are
though a mirror would suffice, and I know you enjoy those
or a flower, daffodils, as the Greek myth that names you
but no lakes, to prevent accidents

(Conditional) love to taste
whenever I was worth your time

Add it all to a cup, and stir well. No doubt you will make it feel small enough to fit. Gobble up.

You only get to savor it once before there is nothing left.