The killer penguins
Waddled off the
Book shelf and
Belly flopped one by
One onto my
Writing desk,
Upturned the ink
Well, and with
Webbed feet,
Midnight blue,
Walked all over
The blotting paper you
Gave me as a private
Joke about
Eroticism and
Eroticism and
A bespectacled
Bloke, chisel-jawed
Manc, Before us
Our first love
Hand/glove, now
Facing the rank,
Murderous shoal
A last impassioned
Kiss we stole,
Fell asleep on
Primrose beds
Awoke later with beaks
For heads, and love
Became… impossible.
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