Tuesday, September 14, 2010

When we're high you say things like:
"Our reality is not a THING
I repeat this, but louder
and putting emphasis on the wrong words.
I don't mind your philosophy
so long as you know we're individuals
and I get my own pillow after our
romp and laugh.
Other than that, I'm not an extremist.
When I remind you of this, your eyes
get shiny and lost
like you're taking inventory of all that's
absent in the world and present somewhere else.
I like your eyes
They tell me there's nothing to the past
and we're just lumping shit together.
We romp and laugh until tears come
to my eyes and I scream:
"Stop, stop, I don't want to be synchronic!"
And then you let me take my pillow
and retreat to my side of reality.
With a smile you let me settle.

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