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.