Something not quite fitting between you and me and he.
Only subtleties web us together.
A criss cross of wires in the booth, the catcher above his bed,
left you and me missed by he.
A rearrangement of rooms forces the catcher above my head –
entraping bodies in dreamscapes filled with prima ballerinas
dancing within the stripped rib cages of giant swans.
The purple walls spill translucent light
as the dancers come in thrusts between me:
You and He.
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