Unconventional Love Sonnet #10
I fear she is drowning in an ocean
of sadness, finally allowing the flotsam
of loss to engulf her. I know that these
waters are healing, that she might grasp
the floating driftwood of my presence
and not sink beneath the surface. But
watching her struggle, knowing how much
she suffers rends my tender heart.
Is this what it means to love? To simply
offer a hand when the other is adrift
in the sorrow of this human coil?
If this were not a metaphor, I would dive in
after her, offer my body as flotation. But
I can only be here when she surfaces.
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