by Marie Cadden
Like a buttock
It comes in pairs
Cheek to cheek.
Two at a time,
brimful of squashy
choice for the mouth,
lush pasture for the eyes,
Undulating landscape,
on a balanced horizon.
Until symmetry is sliced
lopsided, harmony divided
in two. One plus none.
And reconstruction
is no twin,
not one that can nestle,
wobble with compassion,
flatten, fall forward,
droop its comfort softly
or take the blame, benign
as a bosom pal.
