Kid Tetris

(We were parenthetical lovers. We lived inside parentheses - unspoken but understood words. We lived in different sets of parentheses, but when prying eyes drifted to the seduction and lukewarm entertainment of television, I would jump inside her parentheses [or she in mine] and, like released convicts or excited atoms, we would candy our emotions bright reds and oranges. Sometimes violet. But we weren't parenthetical lovers because we lived inside of parentheses. We love parentheses, too. And we made love inside of parentheses. We made love inside of parentheses in the manner in which parentheses make love. They make love like this: "()" And we looked like parentheses - curled and stoic, cradling space and words and qualifications between the two of us, vulnerable but upright, contented and trustworthy. And we acted like parentheses - explicit, necessary, quiet, playful, serious, unpaid, cynical. We also made love with parentheses, a fetish. She went to college on the east coast while I ate candy and watched Full House. When she returned she had acquired this tory sensibility that we - you, me and everyone else in the room - always thought was neither necessary nor likable. Anyway, that was us. Parenthetical. Lovers.)