• My focus was crumbling, like driftwood
    gliding towards the edge of a waterfall,
    by the time your voice touched the surface -
    each syllable became fractured shells
    muttering under the sporadic waves
    quenching drenching your throat.
    The sincere undercurrent to each
    rittle-rattle
    word hooked my attention,
    convincing me to take a blind plunge
    into still, deep waters (that'd no doubt end up
    way over my head),
    while hoping all this falling for you
    would have softened some of your
    dam[n] defences by the time I tailspin and
    hit rock-bottom.