Two figures,
half idea, half aftertaste,
leaning toward the invisible.

A hand mid-air,
a word not yet invented.
Between them — a cup,
or maybe a question disguised as one.

The ink breathes sideways.
Perspective takes a cigarette break.

Hypothesis: dialogue is a circular table.
Counter-hypothesis: tables dream of being voices.

Laughter dissolves in thin contour.
Time folds into two elbows.

DADA nods from the corner,
orders another round of meaning,
and drinks it — without outline.