two sharp fangs —
this coupling is no tongue,
all teeth. after napping
for so long atop each other
they are starved of want
they have started to conspire
who will make the first cut
hook your little fingers
through their eyes and open:
our brace of twins looks
ready to split,
only their commitment
to the task in hand
keeps them conjoint
now there's no going back.
you must decide your design,
what's to become less than itself?
what sum is greater in pieces?
the world out there is far too long,
your friends here are the remedy.
sure — there’s always a little harm
in the cure
