I found that we are potions, she and I, portions of carefully conjured vapors condensed to pyrophoric states of matter
There's a thick line between wet dreams and reality, she straddles it, while wrapping my mind around her ever ticking minute hand
Behind the cold stare of my daydream we sternly enter locked our hands in the nick of time
I have drowned in the pastures of eyes, swam in the depths of her soul, clawed through the roots of her problems before I found earth wedged neatly between my fingerprints and the nail that's in place to shelter it
To appease my dirty mind I'll snort a mound of it knowing there'll be no headache but I'll get a rush to my head as if I cracked open my skull and sentence fragments were everywhere
On my worst day she is good to me, in my darkest hour she is that bright spot in a dimly lit room with a mirror situated just right where the lighting can help me picture myself soul searching
Beautiful as the sky's reflection on open water, strong as immovable rocks that make up the unimaginable ocean floor, vital as an abundant fruit bearing tree in the middle of harvest