A drip that doesn’t drop,
when a stalactite is boss,
the clinging sob,
of a memory loss.
Puddles are growing up and muddles accruing,
memory begins a lock up and feelings queuing.
Heavy is the water,
leaking is the bag,
pressing is the talker,
catching is the snag.
Veins stretched taut for that teaching gets warped,
skinny dipping caught the irreversible starts to balk.
The sip that doesn’t taste, the tap that doesn’t break,
the flow that’s all in haste, the gap that is self made.
Rolling water to trap,
wave of a panic attack,
the map doesn’t match,
memories don’t track.
Roads to mislead for paths that never proceed,
driven water for loads that should never impede.
Mostly bags of water, are we,
skin tight in borders, are we,
exceptional explorers are we,
exceptional explorers are we.