what's in front of me

My fridge cold bottle has learnt to weep
every time I bring it out, sit it on the table
dangle my feet on the floor and step into a puddle
why on earth is the floor wet
the bottle is beginning to seep
frosted icy skin
that slowly turn white, look closely and there's vapour in the air
the white of the surface turns to microscopic droplets
a second later they are tears
galaxy sized globules of percolating pearls
some drip hurriedly, some still at leisure
leaching out of the plastic skin
sweating out of the bottle slim
collecting into a river on laminated wood
of an ancient table
it meanders to join the ocean
dribbling languorously on the floor
drizzling drop at a time, there's a wading pool
caught in the ripples of air
a hardworking overhead fan
pretensions of waves on a shore