Dissatisfied

It's little wonder in my mind why I find I fancy her,
For every day I see her twice, sometimes thrice, though not for sure.
But you are not quite so certain--this curtain has hidden you.
Thus others vie for my heart's space, take your place, like frost of dew.
The crowds and press of human beings quickly brings separation,
But underwater, undersea, it's just me: Speculation.
The way she feels and moves just so in the flow of water cold
Makes the moments with other folk just a joke and our love old.
Imagine me alone again, where I've been, and what I've thought.
These bitter words of things I've said in my head express me not.
With you I wish to be alone or just shown why I should care.
For what's the point of loving you if it's true you're never there?
But now I hear the outraged cry, “'Twasn't I. It's not my fault.”
It's true, so true, but even right, in the night it seems like salt.
So sapped and parched I go to sleep and will reap what I have sown:
The weariness of bitterness, and the kiss of a skull bone.