Atlantic Grandeur

Going off on a tangent
I've barely sort through
Sooner or later
What difference I'm not sure
Admired handwriting
What's the point in trying
To prove subtle intuition to you
When it's clear to me?
Flowers decay on the sill
Lights and incense made me ill

Am I expected to ignore?
Once a week, don't speak too often
You want atlantic grandeur
Thought I'd stay to keep you out of frame
But you got in the shot anyway

I gave in the upper hand
Shakespearean disorder
Short of proof these lies extend
No disclaimer to soften the blow
You went out last night
Directions carved into the ceiling
Then what happened?

Am I expected to ignore?
Once a week, don't speak too often
You want atlantic grandeur
Thought I'd stay to keep you out of frame, unlikely

So impressed by steady hands
The perfect lighting and placement
So you made it more than that
Knew that I would see
And now you've made your statement
But never had to say it
Flowers decay on the sill, made me ill