The water bottle

The water bottle has an  inner life of its own
On the table, among the people of all ages
On sunny mornings and 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 in 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  morning sun lights up your grey curls 
And  a glass table mirrors a white 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 pearly dew-drops on morning grass,
Stuff of dreams gathered in an old box of glass.

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