drink things from my typewriter

we're all better in smaller
doses
i thought,
but shes not.
She's better in the hung
over mornings
and the strung out
days
and the walks in the parks
when maybe i want
to hold
hands and
she doesn't
and that's ok.
in the pews
and the stained glass
and the 4am meows
at the door.
she's better in the sheets and early mornings.
she's becoming my fingers
on the keys,
she's becoming that
sunrise
my eyes once thought
i didn't want to see.