We are floaters revolving around
a single orb, blindfolded. Active
carousels of bubbles and heresay
We look at each end; we see asses,
but never behind for some reason.
Cups; opaque and closed. Contents
cleverly kept secret. How much is
inside? We’ll never know for sure
when it pretends to not have much.
Our prides prevent us asking.
Our steps unite, around each other.
Lips are unmoving as we read:
every bound, dip and sway.
The only problem is that
we have been reading wrong.
Seemingly harmless nudges forcing
a mistake; from both ends. We play
fair: the same for some reason.
Intent won’t coerce a well-timed
feint with another one. We are even.
And we are bound to fall apart.
We really are mirrors, sly and shiny.
There’s a trick to us: we mislead.
And we’ll both never agree to
being proved wrong. And so it goes.
The dance continues.