I can feel us fizzling out
What was sweet yesterday
Now burns in my mouth

Bottled sounds seep; escape.
Our noise mimics semi trucks.
All in fluid motion

I love poetry.
I am poetry.
However,
My typing device provides no choice to, with willing will power,
turn of grammar suggestion.

To proof read a poem twice,
and still edit it once;
I love poetry,
I hate my typing device.
I am poetry.
Please steal my typing device from my rear left pocket.

As I need an excuse,
To aquire a new one.

I was once asked, "Hey,
wanna do some coke?" "No." Drank
my Pepsi with pride.

Sometimes my thoughts get the better of me.
Instead of being who we are, sometimes I wonder if we
were anything but who we are, who would we be. You know?
Would we still be destined to meet.
By some divine twist.
Would you happen to be the soda beside me and I were a set of lips.
Would purpose still play a big factor, knowing you'd
Be that essential thing that would fill this urge. Not because it would be just,
you know, something momentary just because it's there.
I'd never misuse you, 
Choosing to embrace you with the slightest touch.
The taste of something new, something refreshing.
Without fear that you'd be anything other than yourself.
Sweet, giving.
Hands wouldn't play apart of how much or how little you'd give
As I'd be grateful you thought enough of me to present yourself the way 
you have.
A clear bottle with red and white wrapping.
Lost in a ocean of dark brown

I didn't start the food fight
yet I got hit in the head with a can soda
I'm just glad it was a soft drink
it flew at me like an owl hunting its pray
I now realize that toucan play at this game
I also swallowed some food coloring
I'm OK, but I feel like I've dyed a little inside

There loomed a certain belief,
One that exhaled soon as she passed.
A sudden urge that fizzed over soon as the bottle opened.
Now granted you can still drink a soda once it's shaken
Most would replace desire for that of another, the discord
Of being splashed in the face by the very desire one in the same.
Drops of truth splashed everywhere seen as backlash, a sort of wrath
Spoken but never heard.
There was something about the contour of the bottle,
Fixed thoughts filled in ovulation.
Everything kept inside.
A certain vengeance that loomed in bliss.
If not handled carefully doom was immanent.
Each time she walked passed he'd shake the bottle more vigorously.
A cold fizz that quenches every desire steadfast with reality.
Curious he looked at the bottle, wanting to quench this need
He placed his hands on the top slowly unscrewing.
Her eyes connected with his, everything paused.
For the first time in a long time everything was beautiful
Sharing a brief look relaxing his shoulders.
He untwisted the top, for a moment she sighed
Feeling a release she hasn't felt in a long time.
His hand smooth against the contour of the bottle
He placed his lips against the bottle easing her to quench this thirst he's waited so long for.
This urge that dried the well of his throat.
She refused him the pleasure of her, keeping her fizz to herself.
Now he knows what it's like to be on the outside looking in