called a thin slit
fastened over
a shiny round golden
metal. And there

I sit stitched in line
by cotton thread
colored red, so I
don't fray. Hidden

away from everyone,
but holding it all together
to make it fit. The buttery
disc is taking center

stage when we're
engaged. But when
the sun becomes undone
we lay across from

one another,
brothers of the same
cloth. He's the meat and
I the broth.