This is the next poem in the "series" (only a series because its the only terrible poetry I write), after "Quiet Light."
The porch is a nice place to sit,
if you're comfortable.
It seems like we should be,
my twin
and I,
those with the same faces often are.
But the confusion keeps us from depth
of understanding.
So, come in.
The living room is an area for furthering knowledge.
Not all together comfortable,
it's more of a parlor.
Stiffer,
but a start.
We speak in pleasantries.
