The most relieving phase, the most tranquilizing niche, and the most revitalizing hiatus of a hot summer day are the ones during which the first few drops (of the massive globule gradually gaining in size and volume) of ice-cold, oomph-renovating water, with a tinge of your cherished extract bottled up in the tumbler (perspiring, for the chill within and the temperature gradient outside) poetically held in ur macho, tried fists with its glacial beak resting tilted (in order to direct a continuous swarm) on your soft lips, spasmodically shivering in synchronism with the stepwise flow of the elixir, enters ur oesophagus and trolls n drips down ur food pipe killing and sabotaging temperature all the way as it runs (as the whole mass of it, leaving a nostalgic craving on ur taste buds runs and drifts magnanimously, with you subsiding before the gush and ready to be carried away with it) and then for a comparatively longer climax, bursts inside the lukewarm, humid void of the stomach and floods you to entrancing numbness and eternal serenity..whwwooooooooooo...
You have quenched your thrist and reached ur pay-off, ur apogee (metaphorically), n you need no more..
And that's y they say-
"As temperature grows,
and summers descend.
Your hands go rusty,
for ur lips labor, append."
And that's y they say-
"As temperature grows,
and summers descend.
Your hands go rusty,
for ur lips labor, append."
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