As the moon pulls the tides,

So has history drifted us apart;

Wholly to return again.

Your face is a template,

Unto which you sketch such expression.

Mind is a fox,

Cunning, crafty, and undeniably unparagoned.

Body is an adventure,

Enticing, compared to you, you oh so erratic.

I long for the time we can spend together,

Despite that fact, it seems our time has some vague tether.

Let us profess and confess even the faintest expressions of our hearts,

And share in a human experience with such profundity,

Lest we return to one of abstrusity.

Tis this, I numbly say to thee.

-W.B. October