Plastic at Night

Seven bottles upon my bedside table
They are pure, half-full, and sufficiently able
To make my heart pound, to keep me afloat
To give me something with which I may gloat

Yes, I've counted
All of my bounty
Every single one
Yet I will touch none

My throat will go dry, my begging mouth empty
Though the bottles still remain and tempt me
A simple solution, easy and two feet away
Yet the number increases every day