By Leslie Selbst
It’s dark and cold in here… but I like it like this,
I hang like a bat from the roof of my cave
while gazing down at my lover directly below,
Drop by drop we reach out to one-another,
for one thousand years we’ve waited,
Only several feet have we managed thus far,
but grow closer with each year.
Perhaps in another thousand we might embrace,
Oh how rapturous that would be,
when lovers for each drop must wait?
A kiss I blow - as we grow,
a stalactite and stalagmite.