i love to hate loving you
and i would
if never might swallow time in one caffinated gulp
but the minutes race on
creating miles
and miles of roads and hours to grow between
my every waking heartbeat
and the sweat that beads and drips from
the psilocybin headache you drown in when i'm gone;
that beauty only serves to reduce me to tears
when i think too much

i sink softly beneath this thick morninglight
pouring through the cracks of the blinds, and
dripping off my hand to where it rests on a fresh sunburn.
reaction sets my heart to racing once again
in the reality of impending
detatchment
because of the immediate, intimate struggle
within distance and proximity
and everything that never filtered out
three years ago.

when the light descends,
this road will cease to fabricate beneath and
you'll find me lying in a salt pool of consquences
for falling twice too hard.