at first I thought they were wrestling or colliding

two snails - the painfully slow integration.

A confluence of unguent, lost shape except for the shells

which proclaimed their formation.

Cock o'hoop and the helter-skelter stripes

unchanged for millennia

embracing like rocks in a stone wall.

Nothing seemed to be happening

except for a slowly spreading patch glistening

common to all ease of reproduction.

Minutes later they had gone, detached

unmatched.

uncluttered sex with no formal training,

no acne, hair attention and confused hope.

No church bells, no order of service

no proms with the elastic stretch of independence,

no panaceas,

printing of invitations,

no solicitors,

withdrawal of funds.

 

This was after all no children's story, no fairy tale

just the regular life of snails.