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.