“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 wait drops— not to fall,
but to be seen.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 28th, 2025 01:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments7
Fido asks me (in a nice way): 'I suppose you didn't get any of the cryptic meanings of this poem - as usual?!'
It's all role play and the graduated cylinder a prop 🕊️🙏
Cryptic this poem is not as clear as that vial but shows a couple of possibilities, one haunted feelings of age and its deterioration. In this meniscus cleverly used in a triple entendre. and falling weight as in sagging flesh of age. The other may be the sad and nostalgic loss and looking back on a past relationship and its aged outcome. In either case there is a sense of melancholy there. Well done Cryptic
I suppose this is the wonder of the meniscus! Thanks dear friend 🙏🏻🕊️
Most welcome
This is a stunning, precise, and reflective poem, both delicate and intellectually vivid. Nicely written.
Thank you, Fina🙏🏻🕊️
Since when did I figure out any triple entendres, as Soren has?! Sharpen up some literary skills, Fido advises me. lol.
In my readings I just figure out what I could and try not worry about what others read. 🙏🏻🕊️
Yes, best way really, otherwise we may try to adapt our poems too much, to 'fit in' with what others may read. Fido says to me @I doubt you will understand much cryptic stuff'. He explains it all to me though. lol.
This is quiet brilliance, Arqios…memory aching in drops, silence calibrated in longing, the meniscus caught between holding and release. A piece that lingers in its restraint. Beautifully done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Reminds me of a those balls of mercury, it wasn’t healthy to toy around with them but we washed well after.
That memory is always rising Rik.
Andy
A fine write. Nice one, mate.
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