The inbetween-us is heavy and rich with ingredients. I breathe it in deeply, pulling in the inbetween-us like the first half of a sigh; gradually but with the force I use when I want every little bit. I exhale and the inbetween-us gets richer, swirling and changing its face.
The inbetween-us spreads out into the dark sky, gets thinner and eventually disappears. A new inbetween-us is born thick, rich and sweet-smelling.
The inbetween-us curls and licks up, meanders its way to the crest of my forehead, glazes my eyes over and bear hugs my lungs. I let it out, contributing my small part to the inbetween us.
The inbetween us sits between us. It sags with each breath out. It's delicious and thick, simmering and stirring calmly.
Pieces are taken from the inbetween-us. I shape bits in my hands just before the inbetween-us is washed empty by the air around it and disappears completely. Even now (when was the last inbetween-us?!) those pieces spin around me. Like the planets they are infinite, eternal and full of stories.