Moon Soda
Swimming in empty molecules.
The space between atoms?
That’s Moon Soda.
It’s a fountain of fruitlessness.
That you place in your mouth and savor, but can’t taste.
Scrumptious.
Pools of tie dyed outer space.
Swirl around with Moon Soda puddles.
It’s a nice, nonsensical reveling.
When you haven’t tasted much in a while.
Just the moon, which is one big, dry patch.
If Moon Soda was real…
We’d all transcend to the moon in one yawn.
That spaceship never made it.
We expected sweet syrup.
And it was just craters.
In our minds too.
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