Howard Firkin
I see you and the scales form on my eyes:
the milky soft, the vaseline glass view;
the definition of perfection: you.
It leaves no way to see you otherwise.
The easiest addiction is a lie.
Your words ignite the molecules of blood
which dance around my body, flush my brain
with song, erasing memories of pain.
I float on, drown in your endorphin flood.
Don’t want to breathe; don’t even want to try.
The morning hangover: I didn’t die;
my self still in the flesh it occupies.
Your words are words again, left as they lie.
I see you and the scales form on my eyes.
the milky soft, the vaseline glass view;
the definition of perfection: you.
It leaves no way to see you otherwise.
The easiest addiction is a lie.
Your words ignite the molecules of blood
which dance around my body, flush my brain
with song, erasing memories of pain.
I float on, drown in your endorphin flood.
Don’t want to breathe; don’t even want to try.
The morning hangover: I didn’t die;
my self still in the flesh it occupies.
Your words are words again, left as they lie.
I see you and the scales form on my eyes.
