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.