blanket
warmed against the Ice God
(says “let me in!”)
we cuddle deep
his jagged spear
cannot reach
our pink petals
unless they stick out
past the bottom
of the bed
you never played the oboe
no embouchure for kissing
i did my lips are tough
are tight we make a tent
the Ice God is green
crawling caves in covers,
propped on pillows, Ice God’s
sad we spoon so long
the warm it melts him
so we steep our teabags in him
call it a tribute
call it a treat
we spoon
one
thousand
years
Posted 05/06/14