Separated by body and perspective
Our lines of sight like dry spaghetti
Scattered on the floor
A few brittle strands
Several thousand geometric shapes

While sitting motionless
We travel at a velocity
Sufficient to bend our spaghetti  
And skew the shapes it forms
Into dynamically evolving angles

Intersections and interstices
Layer upon layer in constant flux
Nine billion versions of the same reality
Bubble up and disappear
A boiling cauldron of alternate perception  

Okay enough philosophy
Al dente sounds good
Pour the Pinot Grigio
Love your red sauce, baby
We make beautiful dinner together

-- Tom Rubenoff