(An ode upon how not to swim, or rock on waves best kept within) I rejoice at the sound of your voice. I repair at the scent of your hair.
If I fall undersea, your curls
can't rapture me. So I still
take lessons in life's unfair.
You can teach me at lunch
what I could not ken. You
and only you could be at
me, than IF/Then I were
stupid enough to love, I
would sign my stamp by
the beak of a dove.
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