i hate getting high
i love getting high
i hate feeling even more
like a ghost than usual
i love not feeling
i miss her terribly
like the crater must
miss dried oceans
and lakes
like the ocean misses
the moon;
constantly ebbing and
aching, reaching towards
it
impossibly, indefinitely
consistently, tiredly
i miss her deeply
like an empty grave
etched into each of
my atoms
