To ask you if you would like to reduce the width between your knowledge of me
From two pews to one, to know me in growth rather than casual sight
I had put off verbalizing anything into air, because of this hazy unknown
Sequestering my everything and then I had to look at your left hand and even
Though you sat alone, there it was like a lighthouse to shield my hull
From the inevitable jarring, a rock on a harbor I can not find port
And so I will export my thoughts to exclude the waves of your body
From my siren stitched into the fabric that I will set my sail
To go back out there and try to find that white whale, whispering on the bottom
In bubbles pelting the surface like letters strung on a hymn to a song
I fear I am growing deaf to the depths necessary to sing along
A row boat on a tidal surge undulating like bungee jumps
With worn elasticity and questionable concern over the consequences
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