Continental Drift

A sharp word, offence taken

House red and galettes noirs

Another day, a branch snaps

Offence returns, the tide is in

Whipping the twilight sillons

A cold bed, hibernal dawn

Turns autumnal towards noon

A full carafe and gold Lambig

The frosted amity, the road, the sea

Dulce domum, the cold has reached

Ear, nose, throat, balsam tissues

In the Chinese restaurant

The phony peace, my throat

Constricted, resisting spring rolls

And Pinot too chilled to swallow

Our last supper a late lunch.

An email strikes, my faults named

Mea maxima, maxima culpa

Through a glass darkly but still

Puissant, force nine on Beaufort,

The continental drift is glacial

Ice sheets are cold as bed sheets

Thus a man and a woman

May cleave Europe in twain.

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