Thickest. Ice. Ever.

My moral capacity is mortally wounded by the memory
of all the words we used to say, undermined perhaps
not by the words so much, as what was behind them
- the serious with hilarity, the dead-even with
meaning it exactly too much; with what was above them
- the looks, with an underscore, an underline, or
an undress in rehearsal underlying every sidelone glance,
and sneaking along behind every ding!-scored sound-effect
gleam and twinkle as both or neither of us do an excellent job
of not winking, winning yet another epic staring contest
without having officially started one. We cross
the finish, double-cross the end of some other thing,
and with a power that belies our deceptive grace,
vault via breathtaking triple-lutz into first place on points,
for style, just prior to a technical disqualification
for skating naked.