Poetry

92.

Refresh.
How many restarts does it take?
How does one slake the indelible thirst that makes
us into bottomless wells?
Well, I’ve been thinking about that one.
My water bottle appreciates my many caresses,
I hope.
Suppose I’ve also been drinking about that one.
Hi, hydration, may my flesh embrace you forevermore.
Amor, no more shall I scrape dried skin from your broken surface.
Thy fault lines are mine, I mean, the fault lies with me.
I’ll lay me down beside the river
and guzzle clear liquid with a ravenous muzzle.
My sides will heave like a dog in heat,
but my lust for moisture shall be quenched, for the nonce.
Once, I thumbed myself on fire by accident,
numb fingers gripping Bic’s body
and flicking the head with good intent.
They belched fire on me,
I held them so good.
Would that I were made of wood,
then the fire that time could have
burned me down to nothing.
No thing hurts more than a wasted fire,
the ashes of desire blown away with no blowing.
How ever did we get here?
We started with water, however,
we’ve imparted a blessing to chaos’s daughter.
Part of me wishes to gift her with fishes,
but she’d just cook that goose
in a manner most foul.
I know I missed a golden opportunity,
but that egg is cracked anyway, and
shouldn’t you be asking
why these fishes have feathers?
Whether you care or not,
the pot is already brought to a boil.
Voila – water and fire,
working together
so I may feed her
to get her.
I haven’t been much of a cook, but look,
it’s time for a new me.
Fresher.
Refresh her with vittles, reveal your riddles,
embrace the progeny of chaos
and love the order that she brings.
Flesh sizzling, sweat drizzling,
a couple of people a couple can be
and it’s time to cast aside thy solitude.
Thigh solitude, forget it, four get it going in a much better way.
Wake again in the afternoon,
hear her say “Hey,”
and know things will be okay.
Life
refresher.

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