Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Day Fourteen: 'Coelacanth' by Charlotte Henson


It was dead, what they shared,

and he realized it as much as she.

With love like a coelacanth, gone

was the small butterfly that once nestled in their breast pocket,

occasionally fluttering its wings in a dizzy dance.

The fossil of their relationship was

far more easily located than the living specimen nowadays.

Now, loud nights spent tearing into each others’ ego

as a lion does its prey and as the two stand on a pier,

even now she is circling, waiting for his next mistake.

But for a second, a dark glance on the seafloor.

Beneath, the coelacanth made a steady process,


and rested directly beneath them.

Charlotte Henson

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