Dear Daniil
Words are lost upon my lips,
And refraining from poetic scripts,
Which is why, I feel, I find it hard each way,
To display for you what I wish to say.
A feeling is often but a passing fancy,
Which we sense in waves of nonce emotion,
And returns only in splashes of neural necromancy,
Unless it drowns you in its ocean.
That said, I’ve sunk beneath a deluge of feeling for you,
And wish for neither breath nor buoy,
I’d rather stay stuck in its sappy glue,
As I prefer this feeling of being gooey.
And so I, as are my words, am lost at sea,
My drowning has only been a rescue,
And now I feel a new freedom to be,
Me, now that I am safe at sea with you.
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