You say the sound is beautiful,
of rain
against your roof,
and God knows I would die for e’en
a little bit of proof.

And God knows I would die to be there, cradled in your arms;
you tell me of the weather,
how it sets off your alarms.

You’d tell me of the
morning birds
and sing to me a song;
oh Ocean! How I crave your kiss!
My heart wants to be wrong.

Because I picture you at dawn,
your body holding mine,
my heart wants to be wrong.
I say:
my heart wants to be ‘fine.’

Despite my cravings, Ocean,
‘spite my dreams of us entwined,
I tell you that my current state
Is far,
so far
from ‘fine.’