Praise those forested eyesAs I long to climb the most;My tides mirror the perfect sizeTenderly touching the coast. Bitter mournings stress the dew, Claiming the land with a kiss;Sable waves bid adieuAnd I question the capable bliss. Drizzle the sentimentalWith the bleak, distorted rain;This time, I’ll be gentle,As you ride the current again.
The Saccharine Sycophant 