How Far is There to Fall?

First breath in an opium den, hummingbird heartbeats. Automatic writing, existing but not living. You intoxicate me even though you're so, so far away. Touching without touch, breathing in reverse, drinking galaxies and stars in a teacup. A moonwalk to Mecca whilst holding your hand. Run fingers through your hair and breathe you in. Breathe you in. Breathe you in. And then barely breathe because I don't want to lose you while at the same time not realising what had hit me.

Maybe just a mirage. Maybe a sense of euphoria like an injection of heroin - addictive and enslaving, saturating the soul. Of undying dreams and insurmountable energy. Verbal intercourses that never grows old. Threadbare backpacks with their insides emptied in between us. Movie stubs, ticket stubs, airplane stubs of long journeys across oceans, a bag of pot and roaches, coins, phone numbers, lighters, hair elastics, matchbooks, eyeliner that always melts off by the second song, a watch salt-stained from your wrist. We wake from slumber in a place nobody knows our name, and we wander wayward with the wind as I breathe you in. Breathe you in.