layered
graduated cylinder
Folder:
backburner results
"Echoes in the Graduated Cylinder”
In the glass throat of morning,
a single drop measures memory—
not by volume, but by ache.
Calibrated silence,
etched in milliliters of longing,
where each mark recalls
a moment we didn’t name.
The meniscus curves like a question,
hovering between surface tension
and surrender.
And still, the drop waits—
not to fall,
but to be seen.
.
