Fluid Intentions

There's something beautiful about glass bottles.
How its transparent quality is a testimony to honesty.
Day after day they reflect faces and past tenses.
Fake elegance becomes distorted.
Lies evident because fingerprints show up easily.
Substances have to maneuver to become compatible with its existence.
Bearing the weight and pressure of different consistencies...kinda like life situations.
Cans crush.
Plastics burn.
Glass is immortal.
Never being destroyed, only breaking into smaller pieces of itself.
Real.
Unchanging...kinda like you.
Derivatives of glass bottles always provide excellence.
Like Coca-cola.
With the sweetness of everlasting.
Bubbling down throats as it passes through tickling nipples and fingertips.
With smooth temptation.
To take another sip.
From the glass bottle...kinda like how I feel when I'm with you.
Or even sultry Bourbon.
Pleasuring me once again with the hope of happiness.
Relaxing lower backs and temples.
Providing escape
From everything outside the glass.
Secure...kinda like how you make me feel.
And if this feeling is the truth.
As we are the reflection of God.
One day.
I will let you encompass my fluid loveliness.
In hopes that you will keep it fresh: delightful to the tongue.
And if you do fall.
We'll both descend in one accord.
And I'll be the undenying substance.
Filling the space amongst the broken pieces.
Tinting the background white.
Reflecting all colors...kinda like love.