Be prepared for hangovers that last a lifetime. Dreaming or living, I haven’t yet decided. Lost in fields of sunflowers, her body shimmers like a glass staircase to the moon. As a cigarette falls from my fingers, thoughts of her dance in my reckless mind as a dirge of hipsters push their way to the bar. Sleeve tattoos and beards. Tight jeans and wax. This is the look of modern man. Packaged identity repeated as if it were something unique. Trees and rivers between her fingers, my hands squeeze flesh in reflections of what was once reality. Walking for miles, the sun follows my footsteps as I disappear to a place they’ll never know. Lovers across the ages. The taste of her lips as stars collide behind blackened eyes. In her bed and in my head, the duality of intellect and lust. Free of those terrible vestiges, a mouthful of wine from prism to spine eases my woes. Running to the bathroom as my failures fade away, each scar to be worn with pride. This is who I am. This is what you wanted me to be. Passing feelings like seasons when the streets blur beneath my drunken feet. It’s not a weakness to admit you’ve fallen. To suffer in silence means only torture. Spit out that illness. Let it splutter. Let it be. Speak what needs to be said. Mirrors can’t contain me. Feelings drip from my fingers. Sepia images of your hidden smile. Breathe me in, and I’ll take you to a place that hides in the light. Desperate lovers praising the faithful departed. Place me in exile. Take me to the scene of your demise. It rains so heavy as the weeds in the garden grow faster than ideas. The day is lost to others, but to me it’s nothing but an excuse to be human. Slip into bed and float through memory to a land where all your yesterdays bleed into tomorrow. Reaching for the glass, the clock shows no time. Looking at my hands, I see wonder where once there was logic.