Sinking, I say it. I love the five-sixths under water As much as that above. Her nose on mine, she shudders No, it’s not there. She sees no smile But feels it, loving That I won’t drink of her whispered lie. Her tongue is proof on my lips.
There is no land here, no footing. No world. Just her kiss, a punch through iron And a wound one wishes for. This ship is going down. Hold on. Hold to the iceberg White, and warm.