021908

The tonic sings bubbles
rise from the bottom
and if I should listen
they whisper like raindrops

But what can they tell me?
Through syrup and sand-glass?
Through carbon and atmosphere?
Beyond what I know.

Insistent they whisper
to tickle my eardrum
and shiver their message
clear down through the floor

Insistent they whisper.
With no certain meaning.
Yet burst on a dustmite.
Just passing on by.

So what could they tell me?
With all of their whispers
and snickers all jealous
at least I perceive.

For no one is trusted.
Not mystics of midnight.
Not carbonate lovers.
Not friends bittersweet.

To tell me such secrets
and tease my ear tickle
Yet leave me so twisted
awaiting the words

No, no-whispered lover
will lift from my tonic
to light-kiss my apples
and gift me some light.