The acrid taste at the edges of my mouth lets me know
that our conversation is over, nothing else you say right now
can get to the place my head is gone.
It's not that I wouldn't have liked to stick around,
it would have been nice to tell you what was thinking
while I was a million miles away, but I was worrying
about whatever would come next.
This is a trip of alternating paranoia and indulgence,
I'm afraid I have larger forces to answer to than you,
no matter how sweet that mouth is that's calling me back.
This is bigger than me, and bigger than you.
I'll let you know.
I'll let you.
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