A pair of kissing gourami twirls to the rhythm of circulating water,
Mimicking movements, dancing to a perfect tango.
I think of how lovely it is to be encased by glass,
Trapped on four sides with none other than a pink, scaled lover.

How comforting to have another for a fish’s eternity.
In a world of underwater castles, speckled pebbles, and seashell ornaments,
There are no lonesome mornings with the deafening silence of crunching
On brittle corn cereal, sitting across from an empty chair.
No more frantic searching for a bandage that could cover
All the fissures tearing, leaving long scars and swirls of red.
There’s no more sitting, waiting, wishing.