The Ship called Disappointment never left Port
so the absence of Cupid’s visit could hardly
be considered anything less than consistent.
She lets her fingers hover over the keyboard
with a non-blonde swish of “imperfection”
she types a few words and imagines him there.
His eyes are open and perhaps blood-shot
as he lay upon the solid pack of floe ice
with a bottle of whiskey frozen to his glove.