A skosh of sunlight through the blinds,
a skosh of honey stirred in tea,
a skosh of courage tucked in shoes.
You tell me, \"It\'s not much—just a
skosh,\" like scraps were never enough,
like slivers couldn\'t count as whole.
But I’ve seen pinkie promises hold
entire universes between two fingers.
A skosh is the whisper before the
shout, the inhale before a Yes.
It\'s the space between your hand
and mine, stretched but still reaching.
This life, made of skoshes stitched,
a patchwork quilt of almost too little.
And yet, it’s everything we ever need
a skosh of love always filling the rest.