Gauze:
I’ll wrap you around firmly, with haste to stop the gushing. I’ll rush through you with vehemence, and you’ll soak me up with keenness to deliver. The miles you stretch yourself for me are met by a double-digit circumference in centimetre; you run in circles around me. I never catch you, but you seem to hold the tadpoles down- for a while; a while much shorter than anticipated or desired. I seep through you with ease of flow. A drop of silken water off a bottle’s lip can’t compare, because the force of anticipation reclines against that of failure and disintegration. You give way.
Ice:
You’re a temporary calming effect I was willing to fall into intervals for. Your touch complemented my sedentary state with surprising elegance, but in fashion nothing lasts that long. I can claim it’s my heat and ferocity that shot through you, and I can claim that your interim nature brought your dismay. I claim none- the blame game lost its charm minutes after you have, and if grace were to be mine, I’d need something on the rocks, not the rocks standing alone.
Have you ever tried to wrap ice with gauze? An ice pack neat and ready for use.
Have you ever tried to unwrap ice from gauze? The gauze rips apart like skin off ice, and you can almost feel how the ice is burning.
Thoughts of people I once loved dearly, and who are soon to be forgot.