In an underworld too deep to sustain little else
than sponges, sea stars, titanic battles between
squids and whales, she slugs herself through
the blackout of her days. A grotesque matron
from the brush of Bosch, slack jawed and fanged,
her glowing whiskers, an apparatus of seduction
to lure a valentine, she'll dwarf. A suitor who'll give
her his heart, his all; die when she dies.
A grim biological fusion or an act of high romance?
An unbreakable instance of being wedded for life.
Stephen Bone
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Stephen Bone would like to hear them.
