Two Wells

The bail goes deeper yet I don’t hear the splash. It slithers up. No splash either. She’s dry though no one can tell. One well within another. Artificial and natural. Both try to satisfy thirst. Green and lush circling them both. Upside and downside. In both I can walk naked feet, or just naked. Hopping from stones to stones the frogs whistle, or grass blades to grass blades whisper. No one’s watching except the sky seeming to be a helping hand. No dismal, obscure clouds scrutinize in antipathy. The flat outside is better to lay on and enjoy a blissful afternoon sun in winters. The curved interiors are risky yet tempting. Both are quite lonesome though not lonely. Abundant yet being denied. Welcoming like an afternoon coquettishly lingering for a hug from winsome evening. The needy hang around, restlessly, fingers tapping. Let’s forget the wells and lush surroundings for a moment. Focus on being menopausal early. Quite enjoying this kind of bloody freedom. It’s my world, I’m letting you in. So, drink away till I say no, and don’t touch anything you aren’t meant for. Not even the sculpted make up. Water is rare these days. Nod and leave on time. Don’t forget to promise to return one day. It might be your final lie. I’ll fend ignorance and faith. The bail, water and thirst may be more amenable then.