She moves erratically through the day
to a cacophonous soundtrack,
swirling and whirling
around every gesture and word;
she’s so much gravity,
pulling close objects into her orbit.

He rolls inevitable across hours,
bubbled in cotton wool,
every breath a minor annoyance,
each conversation a major irritation;
he’s so much compressed material
repelling bodies on both sides,
dying toward a flat future.