Ask me. Please. To slip into that which in you want to see me. My pride wants to hear you use your words.
You lie on your side and I will on mine.
Facing you, to slip a leg in between yours.
Feeling the weight of the difference between us, resting upon my sidelong knee.
I’m a little tipsy: I say.
No. You’re a little drunk: Æ tells myself.
I reply in query: No. Not necessarily. Am I driving a car?
No. Absolutely not: is Æ’s response.
Right then. That’s what I thought. If that’s the case(y) then I’m only a little tipsy: I reaffirm.
Æ sighs: Fine.
Then let us go outside the palings
in order to release yourself of your own name.
Then they can never call you from playing in the garden to do chores!
Like Alice, I wœnder-landed until I strolled through the Looking-Glass House of Blue.
There; within did Æ teach myself to deconstruct I
to the point where
I would no longer be surprised
if the theory of gravity, quite suddenly, proved to be untrue.