Across the table. Unbalance between our locked eyes. And stinging sigh. Look away from the shifting silence that drips. Slide down my glass. Drop on my thigh.
The fluids tell a story we must admit.
Drink creates a path that we won’t deny. Unsure of the slippering and sliding. But we go right along.
Cold glass escape from the taste that entraps
Or the bitter tongue spit you can’t forget
You learn, that not every drink, will be worth your drinking
Who are the drinks that will make it feel better.
Who are the tastes that will make it all worse.
Cindy Koch 