I hate that being with you makes me lose my sense of self,

like laying in water, tepid, like body temperature

and there’s a boundlessness:

Like I’m flying. 

In our separation I sometimes feel odd,

like something is missing

and colours aren’t as bright.

I don’t like this poignant smell of love

that suffocates me, sweet,

heavy and hard

like rock candy. 

I hate that the truth is I haven’t lost a thing,

I’ve simply gained another limb

That I worry may turn against me.

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