Give us your fists and your cups,
pressed tight like hands saving drips for drinking.
Parched lips press against fingers, peeling flesh gracing
present situations. Your dehydration comes at such
inconvenient times; quench it and taste nothing.
Chemically cleaning ourselves, removing impurities
with pills and berries eaten by the starvation of Africa;
trendy cups of tea from bushes redder than bleeding hands
come to the lips, away from the lips
again, again - suppression and inhalation-
lungs expand and compress as we feed our bulging bellies.
Perhaps day old dregs in assuming mugs on counters
hold keys to lifetimes of bliss.
The metal tastes sweet in my mouth.
