I've become
quite good at
paraphrasing
the sounds
that mist
the midnights
of my brain, and
the mouthful noises
you make.

There's a
simmering
in my head,
but it's the
pre-effect
to my
post-ecstatic
state.
You'd said
it's toleration
and consolation, not
adoration, I'm not
making friends.

My eyes drown
a little too much
in the condensation
of the idea, and
these days
there's just
too much to say.
I'll shut up
just enough to
paraphrase.
 
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