a cold hand brushes
against
my shoulders. it's an accident.
i feel her
cold feet, the ticking
of her cold cold heart.
(I think Hank Williams wrote
a song about this)
it's another six weeks
of winter in here.
is gloomy, dark.
it may snow in the bedroom
soon.
the clouds have gathered blue
and low.
the walls are made of ice.
the bed
an iceberg afloat on the arctic
sea.
what lessons have we learned
here.
right.
don't get married, flee.
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