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Whale Fall

Under frigid tides,

love’s last joyous lungful escapes,

so finally, passion’s carcass may sink.

Bound to a heartstrung anchor, we drift,

through growingly gelid planes,

bathyal and numb,

before we reach the seabed,

the abyss uncharted beneath


A palace forged of our fondness,

now lies

in a scavengers’ realm.

Keen claws nip and vile mouths bite;

but their fair-weather boon soon

fades; and only bone cairns of

love lost remain.

Far from the warm, soft, shallows

of lust we have waded,

and now,

if only to sink so far,

at least we know we have

swum in waters

that run so deep, so cold.

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