The bowl is brimful

The water sits still

Discreetly level

Like maturity’s will


But as you fill the hunger

It overflows,

As you meet desire

It spills beyond the rim,

Never level

When you try to fill

A cupful,


Till you learn

to treat the arousal

As a measured signal,

Learning to hold the water

Even as it begins to fill

to the rim,

For a bowl

Just brimful.