I'm going to offer this:
The Things you Break that Break you
It might have been the way you raised your voice,
an octave higher than my cholesterol bar,
or the warm suds on my cold hands -
perhaps I walked a step too far.
It might have been a choice, half forgotten,
nurtured in the moment when I looked
through the muggy pane of glass and saw-
and it slipped - and I only noticed when I heard
the impact on the floor.
It might have been at fault,
an imperfection on the day it was cast in its mould
and left to set for dinner, maybe twice,
or overnight. I don't recall the sold sign
being written, only the salt thrown over one shoulder
for good luck but did I do it right
or was it left like the rice spilled over the stones
and somewhere between ourself -
and I cried and you lowered your voice and you said -
there are other cups on the shelf.
I finally wrote it @TahaT11n!
