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The Pour

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She begins brittle,
tightly curled,
a rustle of dry whispers
waiting for a reason to unfurl.
I linger, calm and quiet,
until her need stirs me,
kindling the flame
that calls me to boil.

When I pour over her,
a slow, burbling warmth
that saturates her edges
like it smolders in my core,
she blooms under my caress,
folds unraveling in my heat.
The turbulence stirs us,
so that every part of me
meets every part of her.

Curling fingers rise,
the air thickens;
She steeps in me,
I draw the flavour from her.
We become one together,
More than either of us alone.
The swelter inside me,
the richness within her-
we become something new
in this act of alchemy.

Last Update: May 17, 2025

Author

Amanda Růžičková 53 Articles

Poet in Prague, Midwest-born, fluent in reinvention. Living with stage IV lung cancer and too many unread books. Writing with love and uncertainty—chasing meaning and the everyday beauty that survives

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