37 hours.

I wonder what your dreams taste like.
Do they taste as sweet as a kiss,
after not seeing you for 37 hours?
Does it taste the same for you, I wonder.

And does your heart beat like thunder,
when we hold hands in the rain.
And does pain seem to fade
when you’re sitting with me
with a bottle of dark rum
watching whatever’s on TV.

I wonder what your thoughts feel like.
Does your head feel fuzzy
and your heart a little lost
After 37 hours of me not being around.
And am I the hot head
And you the clown?

You’re the first person I go to
when I’m feeling too much up
or a little too down.

I gave up on myself a little,
when I got into you.
Don’t feel too bad, I’m just telling the truth.
It’s not often you find someone,
who appears to be
both poison and antidote
to your own mental health.

But whatever you are
and whatever we will be,
my eyes are wide open and my arms are free.

So let’s hold hands
and walk together.
Let’s take off our clothes and walk into the sea.
Let’s salt our eyes, so we can finally see.
Who we are now
and who we might be.
Two shadows in faded armchairs,
drinking far too much tea.

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