Comments about Charlotte Henson
It was dead, what they shared,
And he realized it as much as she.
With love like the 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 a 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...