It's like—there are always these
two twin sibling capital letter I's
standing, independent but
right next to each other.
Proud and vertical—but humble,
no serifs for protection.
But sometimes, the sister
can't seem to resist
edging in, somehow getting herself
preternaturally bonded
to her brother
at their extremities, even as she resists this
in her very middle—
and instinctively begins
arcing away,
balooning
just about as geometrically far out
as she can from him without snapping.
Other times, it'll be
her brother who will deliberately
target her,
leap up and go
ballistic, always come crashing down
at an angle to dead center,
only to kiss
a perfect bullseye there
before ricocheting off immediately,
half-mad, but still beautifully
and still fully himself—in the
opposite direction.
