on the shelf

On the shelf
we sat in jars
like captive fireflies
with a million
millimeters
between us

During the day,
we remained still
for fear of detection
but at night
we had the chore
to haunt each other
with charades

You often stared
right at me
but you seemed
more hypnotized
by your own reflection
than in focusing
on my grand gestures

We each hoped
for an earthquake
when the door slammed
or some other external
jolt
to destroy
our structure

The excitement
of wondering
whether my glass
or yours
would shatter first;
leaving the other
one
behind
to clean up the mess
after the other was
long gone