Christophe emerges from the bathroom covered in oarweed,
his lips crawling with screech beetles and thrips.
This is not the anniversary surprise I had anticipated
and I tell him as much
but 'tophe is nothing if not implacable.
He comes at me, chest scale-mailed with shining chitinous hides,
exoskeletons crunching beneath his monster slippers.
Forgive me, their ticking, ruined hind legs seem to beg,
as he crushes yellow guts into the hearth rug.
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