We're in a giant mom and dad linked by a heart.
We're going round in circles in the figure eight
made by their bodies and cinched by their heart.
Where their lips touch is another kind of heart.
Where their stomachs meet a third type of heart.
They sort of know this, but they're too busy
convulsing. They think they're a constellation
fastening in space. And we're going with them
on a vague run for groceries. It's a long ride
in a station wagon. It's the screwy roads of an upperclass
subdivision. You think they resemble a galaxy
spinning, but to them you think it's like being inside
two plants joined at the stalk. Which might be right—
I've also been guessing. And wanting to twist
like they do, wanting to try some weird positions
and see what happens. I saw a model of it once.
A smaller arch passed under a bigger one around
what looked like a tomato slice stuck on a flywheel.
That's not how I'd describe it to them.

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