on the rocks           
                 

the captain’s love map is the size of a postage stamp
alarm tinkles through your ice cube archipelago
the cruise submarines to the floor of the Tasman

seven years ago lust seemed the most desirable thing
now it looks like the mirror has cracked
you bob uncharted in a lachrymal ocean

no one suggests the prospect of whale song
but the typecast storm is refreshing
that could be acceptance on the horizon

think of one thing you have in common then halve it
there’s no answer to the following question

©Dael Allison