How they fill and swell
and brim from tops
of shirts. How they joggle
men. For who wouldn’t want
the power to pour forth
in more than just a single
milky spurt? How they sugar
the breath and can wet pink
gums. How they mean home
and the warm hum of sleep.
How in their rise and set
they double one
back to that first vessel’s rocking
before the waters broke
so that eyes could be opened,
tongue could be loosened,
and thirst—that boundless cup—
could be spilled.