Spine-Tingling

SPINE-TINGLING

on the coffee table
is my glass of clear water.
and being a poet,
i wondered about its purity.
what if i changed it?
took it and added
something to it like this.
the ink would run,
and soon turn dingy.
it's not so pure now,
but at least it became a tool
for images to take place.
sometimes reality is like that.
it's quite the relationship -
for the poet, it's about love
no matter how the content arrives.
words have their own nuances - don't they?