Predilection Edict

If possession is nine-tenths of the law entirely, you're mine though cosmically, empirically we lack the ties that bind For naught these thoughts escape me through the river of the day while every beryl and burst of you contain me as they stay And while the very air we breathe is cycled through our distance I know that even air succumbs to love in sweet resistance If possession is nine-tenths of the law then what am I to do? for obligingly, surprisingly I now belong to you.