My desperation is not discreet.
It sprays off my tongue every time we meet.
Like the octopus squirts ink to evade capture.
Inky I love you's flood from my mouth, a Tsunami of rapture.

Loving you is the ocean and desperation is decompression sickness.
Whenever I come up to breathe my head spins, nitrogen bubbles explode in place of butterflies.
Isolated on this lonely island, my clouded mind tears me asunder.
If I die a living death  you would be my beautiful, poetic blunder.