Going off on a tangent, I've barely sort through Sooner or later, what difference I'm not sure Admired handwriting What's the point in trying to prove subtle intuition to you When it's clear to me? Flowers decay on the sill, lights and incense made me ill Am I expected to ignore? Once a week, don't speak too often You want Atlantic grandeur Thought I'd stay to keep you out of frame But you got in the shot anyway I gave in the upper hand Shakespearean disorder Short of proof these lies extend
No disclaimer to soften the blow You went out last night Directions carved into the ceiling Then what happened? Am I expected to ignore? Once a week, don't speak too often You want Atlantic grandeur Thought I'd stay to keep you out of frame, unlikely So impressed by steady hands The perfect lighting and placement So you made it more than that Knew that I would see And now you've made your statement But never had to say it Flowers decay on the sill, made me ill