Swim, swim on

Liquify, thoughts. Then drain yourselves. Collect into a perfect pot or cup or droplet of something I can taste. It's cold and I'm clogged and it doesn't make sense to me at the moment. I can't get out of my mind most of the time. And from its ceiling, by the folds and the ridges, dangles the light behind my eyes. The fog saunters, and the clouds lap over. Burn, burn, and delay the water from rising again.