Rhymes are liquid,
That I know.
They are as liquid
As melted snow.

Rhymes are liquid
They can flow
And take the shape
Of what you shape it so
Rhymes are most definitely liquid.

Rhymes can leak
Out of your mouth.
Just like water
Both liquid, no doubt.

Just like room temp. mercury
Is rhyme’s liquidity.

Rhymes not contained
Can be a mess.
Just like how
Spilled milk
Is not the best.

This poem here
Is evidence
That rhymes being liquid
Makes so much sense.

Bitter anger and confusion
like vinegar
won't stop love from flowing.
They are both liquid
coursing together
through the great channels
carved by passion.
When dammed,
these too overflow.
I must, somehow, create culverts
and new places to go.

Swelling water
Pours heaviness of limbs
To the swallow of sleep.
Rain-water fingertips
Dampen the sheets,
Moisten cigarette papers.
A tobacco spire
Breaks the clouds of my teeth,
Announcing holy fog
In respiration.
The sun drowns at 4pm
In a pool of deadened leaves
Choking bubbles of light
Through eternal perspiration of winter.
Liquid abyss soothes the sky.
I rain until morning.

Drinking blood
of sinful
bodies
that want
no more
than a hand
to bite down on.

******* every
last drop
of metallic
liquid out
to taste life
the way
it is.

Brewing.
Steeping.
The leaves of the crunchy,
Dry,
Oolong tea.

The chocolatey aroma…
So intoxicating
Like a psychedelic dream.

Auburn orange.
Amber yellow.
How these colors swirl within the tea cup.

Dipping a spoon in to twirl it.
Left.
Right.
Counterclockwise.

At last, the tea was ready.
Cool.
Not too hot.
Not too cold.
Just right, like porridge.

The girl was ready
To savor the
Lovely drink.

She took the tea cup.
In her delicate hands.
Tipped it to her chapped lips.

The warm liquid
Glided.
Smoothly.
In her mouth.
Down her throat.

Her tongue wanting more.
She smiled,
Before continuing to
Finish
Her ravishing tea.