Its aluminum texture reaches out, and
grasps my tongue's amusement.
A tickling monotone washes and soothes
my obedience into a melting guilt that
crosses through a soundless satisfaction.
A sip grips each bud
to spark the life back into
the dead and textured field.
Life is sprung from drowning.
An enigma surfaces, lingers,
and drifts further into the abyss,
missing its chance to dance with her sizzling.
Miniature revelations snap, crackle,
and pop her eyelids.
A brief rest is given
to leave a signature on the table.
My eyes water, and my throat scorches,
My last whisper escapes
its raped, flaccid anxiety, and
another calm pause reverses hiccup
ping my mantra's conversion.
The world never stopped spinning as I fell.