This is a dialogue between you and me
I’m a mariner and this is my bottle in the sea.
Maybe your dog will find it on the beach
And after years of wandering I’ll reach you
And I’ll know my ability for speech is not a loss.
Eventually you’ll be my housewife, we’ll lie in the moss
Like ancient triceratops eating bread with olive sauce.
Apparently our house will be on the ground,
No walls, just a mound, and we’ll live on the lee.
That is, if you accept this proposition from me.
In the meantime, I’ll keep writing with a fishbone
Bobbing on the ocean with a bottle, but still alone.
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