It is infinity, she tells me, sitting on the edge, knees brushing not quite aligned. It is art, an echo emitting soft waves, velvet glow, bodies outlined.
I watch us in the waves, feel our stillness on the edge of an illusion not quite aligned. I see an endless drop masked in tranquilness between squared shorelines confined.
There is another reflection pool smoothed on the edge of her eyes, and my reflection not quite aligned, is still, unwavering, soothed imagine fingers entwined.