Call our mother Orion;

We are three stars under her belt,

A company, a crowd

We hear the quiet in the loud.

Harmony of buzz, brittle honesty,

We take shots we would never allow others to take.

We carry a map of the pressure points in our heads,

Sometimes we press harder than we intend.

Butterflies in a bell jar

We are aware,

Accustomed to breathing each other’s air,

We see you, outside

But you will never fit in here.

Rock, paper, scissors,

Whichever you choose, please handle with care.

You laugh when we dig each other with tooth picks

But try it,

And we’re saving our teeth for you.