Immiscible

We might stand a better chance
if you were a gull and I was a penguin.
When life’s thick waves wash over us
with creases of black treacle,
pasting our feathered layers
in a gel of toxic molasses,
we could dispatch the science
that makes us latch each other’s throat
in a death grip clutch.
I’d serenade your molecule
and you mine. No matter
that our poles weren’t aligned.
We’d frolic in the bubbly surfactant
sleight-of-hand that makes us free,
the thick heels of our Bolero-booted atoms
would dance a breathless flamenco.
In an ionic bond of fire and ice,
we’d preen and swoon
on Earth’s edge
like peacocks bathed in Klieg Light.