Well Done, Sherlock

That stricken boat on the glass sea,
With windows tinted unevenly
As to keep an eye on the suns at dusk
When hands were frozen, mouths fell to dust.

It never gets far, nothing these drinks can't unwind,
Lips will be loose and your conscience won't mind.
Unpurposeful slip of the tongue past midnight.
Healing the barrier between disgust and fright.

It wasn't meant to be taken away from you,
The waves weren't crashing but the wind blew and blew,
Watching the sun lose its grasp on the deepening sky
Watching the communications cease between you and I.