The water bottle has an inner life of its own
On the table, among the people of all ages
On sunny mornings and on old and young lips.
Its lips are wet with a luminous passion born
Of a serious relationship with morning light.
The girl takes its blue mouth to maiden lips
Soft and ruby-red, of unopened mind-secrets
And silver laughter ringing from nature’s alleys
A love born ,a life begun,an idea taking wing.
You woman, old and grey, over several suns
Will need it for your own subliminal fantasies
When a morning sun lights up your grey curls
And a glass of table mirrors a glazed bottle
Water dancing inside stomach to sun’s music.
You the poet photographer will need it badly
On your brown lips, that have gone bone dry
Looking for pearl -drops on a morning grass,
Stuff of dreams to scoop in an old glass box.
