Atlantic Grandeur

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