Your name lies at the uppermost top of my mind, just skimming the surface of recollection as it glides like vapour over glass. Not something I'd like to force - who can force vapour anyway? It just slips through your fingers, leaving them cold and moist and clammy. Something you want to wipe your hands off once it's all said and done. And I suppose that's what you're like. Vapour.

Maybe.

I think you're like one of those strong minty cough drops that I like to leave under my tongue for hours at one go.

How ironic. I want to wash my hands off you and yet leave your thoughts under my tongue for me to savour.

Till the very last drop.

Sometimes, you give me the feeling I get on those days when the sun melts over my mouth, down my throat and into my gut where it warms my tummy.

Or so I think. Or whatever.

.....


[This is all one very big ride and you keep on waiting keep on waiting keep on waiting to get to the top but really what they don't tell you is that this ride is rigged. It breaks on the way up and you're stuck there, upside down, waiting waiting waiting for someone to rescue you.

This entire thing, the universal joke called L I F E, it's all one big dupe.]