With our movements we chalked out a mirage (a
pencil-tip on the outskirts of prosody). I never meant
to mean any more or any less. It’s just that while
dancing among the vowels full of meaninglessness
I tripped on your shoe.
Or was it mine?
Delicately, you wheedle until you
shake out your very niche. I, on the other hand,
finding whimsy much too complex, shuffle off
to the window to hone in for a few hours
on another wet night.
