just a quickie to see if i've still got it.

i fear most
the pen to the paper
hurried for tides washing away ink
to depth known or unknown
it's hard to care
for more than the moment
(does it truly exist?)
worlds transmuted transatlantic
him to him
my sorrow increasing in measure
with my smiles
stretching farther than the east indian trade routes
into a hell i've built
for you
for me
to become heaven in routine
and out of the ordinary
laced in curtains curtailing
your every move
i care not
yet only so much
you are everything, you have become
one half
of the center of my universe
my sun.
our son.
the reason.