Well Water (last draft)

Well Water

Icy from the chill of winter
snow on Blue Ridge mountains…there’s nothing
else that tastes like that. Crisp and sweet,
in a way that’s difficult
to put your finger on.
It would have been nice
if our relationship had been
like that: sweet,
clear,
simple.

But we weren’t,
you know, we were more
complicated, like sex
on the beach, bloody
mary, or whiskey on ice,
which sounds simple enough
but washes down with a bite that makes you forget
why you chose it in the first place.

Until you get used
to the burn in the back
of your throat, start thinking,
maybe it warms you.

Or maybe we were just
like city water, treated
water…the kind that was once brackish
but, in attempts to cleanse,
to emulate the fresh
taste of quiet streams, has been pumped so full
of complicated,
chemical ingredients,
that the adding
makes a hard, flat taste.
Like iron,
or blood.

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