I'm made of coffee, you're made
I'm stronger, but you
and you somehow seem
and younger than me—though not particularly
in a nice way.
After so much time, my body
has gotten heavy
and increasingly thick
as a textbook;
meanwhile, you've gotten slim
as a bookmark, indispensable
to keeping my place—but not exactly
in the right way.
And I now look a lot
like a whole pre-stretched canvas
splashed with cadmium yellow paint,
but in your latest
even the evergreens
appear more like seafoam—though not really
in a loud way.
Finally, my mind seems
to stick out now—it points straight up
quills on a porcupine, and I no longer think
anyone should go around unconsciously
trying to handle me;
Your brain, meanwhile
is all folded up
like a beautiful swan
inside a small porcelainpedestal sink—but not particularly in a proud way.