Be as ghosts to one another.
It’s winter officially. This is ghost season.
There’s no place to fuck without dying from the cold.
The fish are infected with ice and sleeping in the pond. They dream of human extinction.
All these sounds I make instead of words rile you.
It isn’t a joke, you say. Then you laugh.
You put your finger in my mouth and we’re frozen together.
We'll be married until the robins and the thrushes stop dying.