202 Readings | 0 Ratings

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
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