The air is stale
Empty
Like the afterthought of a crystal glass filled
To the brim
Then slowly poured
Dumped
Into the drain
Of the clean, steel sink
Can never know
What this may have
Held in it's warm
Embrace
Can never know
What may have been
Or should
Have been
That, is
Gone
Only drops
Of what is,
Left in the air
The glass