Green eyes

 

Another day, another

icy wave

splashing,

rocking back and forth

inside the amber

of a sweaty bottle

which I clutch anxiously 

while her green eyes—

those emerald containers—

undress my sanity, 

thinking,

I need something that

I already have.

But the pilot crackers make me thirsty 

enough

to lick lunacy 

just as the French do,

and grant

green eyes

fair play.