Threw
my hand to my heart
fingers on the needle.
Plunged it
down.
(My hand
hit yours
on its path!)

Oh,
Intensity.

Do you not
feel as good
as I do
right next
to you?

When I tell
you of how
I feel, you
say, "shut up.
You're not
sober."

Yes?
Does that have
something to
do with this?

I love you
still in the high.
In the morning
after.
In the crest of
waiting for my next
dip.

If I were sober
for a straight amount
of the little time
that we have,
I would love
you then
like I love
you now.