running down her fingers
with a plunk
the hollow sound of a steel bucket
taking its first hit
steady dripping
plunk
turns into a steady ripple
over her full lower lip
a stream filling the bucket slowly
fighting evaporation
the bucket rusts
sand settles at the bottom
for years it sits under the window
of a home that isn't what it seems
the bucket fills
some drops come from the petals of flowers two springs ago
others from the dark intentions of her twisted hands
all fillings the bucket
edging towards the top
until it tips.