It tastes like liquid nothing.
The sense of it is there,
Cool and moist
But it doesn’t engage
A single taste bud.
I don’t drink enough of it.
I desire something
With a little more flavor.
A little more drama.
Though I would drink it
Through my pores
If I could.
I prefer it to exhilarate me
From the outside in.
I long for gills and sleek skin
That wouldn’t wrinkle and pucker
After hours, days submerged.
Hair mad, and ever shifting
From one stroke to the next.
Just don’t make me drink it.
Oral hydration isn’t something
That my fluid body
Can easily abide.
2 comments:
Interesting juxtaposition to Death Rattle; i.e. liquid vs dryness.
I think you have some kind of hangup with water. Or the lack of it. A lot of your writing includes some mention of wetness/dryness. If not explicitly, than through imagery like "sand" or "stone" or "greasy doorknob." There's a specific, almost peculiar, kind of tactile-ness to it.
I am, in my writing, trying to go multi-sensory. So if you find it tactile than I'm doing my job. I think you are right. I do have a hang up about water. Remember the "moisture song" Eric? That was all about water and earth. Funny. I never realized how often I used that theme.
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