i am a dried fish under fire,
in desperate need of aqueous relief.
kindly read my letter and know
it's just like old times
right after the first end
of you and i~
desolate, retired from my cramped brain,
i imagine you and my blood boils
so scalding it seeps through the pores
of my skin.
haughtily, narcissisticly, this
isn't the last letter i will write to you
in my condition of cognitive incapacity.
but you make me feel,
and then i don't know what to do.
and i guess, then, it's okay.