it might be too much
im on my tenth cup, on madness, and it frees the soul anyway
im sick to my stomach, stuffed slightly
sated, in a hazy mood, amber glass eyes looking through
thick like honey, moving through
sticky and tough and heating up
too much to handle, sweating like in dreams, i barely notice
my sweat is sugar water, food for a humming bird
curling my hair, wrapping it round, humid
mouth open, tongue out, i want to reach in and yank it out
i want to love you till we’re Greek, ive found my other half
it’s not marble, its without form but with substance
without meaning with purpose
its a shock of birth
the shock of recognition of self
o, saccharine, you unformed pearl, not yet beautiful and still raw, nerves exposed
it could be the wine or it could be my mouth needing to bite down hard
