The Lover as Unexpected Glaciologist
Our bed is a river of ice, cleaving
more & more every day. 
I am in a cave deep inside, without
even a penguin to keep me company.
When will he return?                                                                                                                                                              When will I get to cast my stories on the walls?
All I want sometimes, is for him                                                                                                                                                 
to breath into my neck & tickle me deep.

Instead, his tremulous hands fill me
with an undying dread.                                                                                                                                                             
No matter how many eons pass or where we flow, he never asks
how I got here, what my geology can reveal.    
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