where the scenes
blend too seamlessly
to the next glance:
our twoselves soon rising
up-through white fibers—
from the thick of reality:
oilslicks slipping up-along
when later looking back: the lost
incompatible with water but—
we sought fewer thoughts
I really like that first stanza.
My favorite poems are the ones I've drafted while high...
Psh, don't write sober.
i was waiting for this comment.
Keep writing while you're high!