Something great, something great draws closer, near,
on the deep end's tip, the dense and tired shallows--
I am in wait for You, You Voice,
a surreptitious sound that steels itself and grows hardy:
vodka, liquor, the things that vomit me,
all into ceramic mugs that house a rotten beer.
This is so deep, my lungs will not fill in time
(to be soaked in You and sputter out
simultaneously
the beauty and godliness of You).

How horrid, yet flattering,
chittering of non-alcohol beer
with the droplet sweat above our brows
from standing in the summer night fantasy.
The waterline's just at our necks
(I cannot see your well-toned bod,
nicely minty cool, muscled legs sighing for sex--
this is adult swim in the underwater light,
the one we did not trespass.

I've heard of You in dreams--no,
in my dearest friend's waving hand,
'Hello my dear's, and fallow land:
we are but children,
toiling about and there's nothing to fear.
But you, you and I,
something this way seems to appear,
a dreary, somber morning eve
disgustingly making the sky more shallow than ever,
ever, ever; evermore than for what I wished.
Surely there is something we both missed,
thinking eyes are better than tears
no matter when they were born, children of
different years, different months, different days,
different suns,
and moons, and Plutos, all crying from mother deep,
mother barren, mother dead--
no one is ever living,
it is a simple fact,
so why is nothing else kept on a single track?

Am I a judge? coordinator? stage director?
Flitter to the west, to the waterfall, to the sky.
The sky is falling!  Where is my crew?!
A crushed Ganymede is not what we need:
just passion, more passion--and honesty.

Let me touch you in the deep end,
come paddle this way.
Let me love you like you are wanted
because you are indeed.
Join me in my loving deep while Humanity's children are away,
join me until I sleep--
it is how time is best kept at bay,
off the shore, out of sight,
when we are submerged
fully.

And You, You are not forgotten,
for I found You in the snow
(when pools were emptied long before
and the taverns never closed).