quenched. (an original poem from my archives...)

thirsty. drooling the dribble an orange tang splash juicy juice spilling leaning over the table she hit the high note and its higher than ever its covered in dust from its take-off dramatics that left a lot behind. an atmosphere pierced by the juicy juice straw a higher than highest artist at work begins at a table splashed with her ashes and drizzled in juice from a high so fast and an exit wound lost in a frenzy of what's real and an embrace from the sky she sits and she sips and she works through this sticky and seemingly beautiful high.