How dangerous is it, that

You have become the poetry that I write
In my head 

During sex.

You,

Have become the love at first sight that I’d set out to meet

Every day and night;

And I

Am waiting anxiously to see if

I am just dreaming;

If I am

just making up stories

To mask the pain of loneliness. 

Or, if it is the

Love drugs

That

Drag me down 

Your tummy 

With my tongue…

And the only way I can allow myself

To recover

Into sobriety

 is 

To fall into this 

Binge again.

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