They were one surface until the moment they came apart. What bloomed between the two ceramic bisques had the weather of a jungle seen too close — wet canopy in overlapping scales, a disc of flame cracked into tributaries, cobalt opening like a lagoon with no shore. The pigment tore and chose uneven sides. The relief it left is still raised from that pull: plated, veined, rims lifted, the core bloomed.
Tile A kept the ring. Green closed around the orange, stacked like night canopy, the lagoon holding the heat still round. Tile B kept the light that broke it. Yellow tore through the left; isolated green fragments lie on the white bisque as if they fell in the glare. The orange stretched oval, still veined. Blue pooled heavier toward the bottom.
Black drops hang off both faces, thrown clear of the jungle. Around the sisters the porcelain white is the quiet after they were drawn apart. They do not complete each other so much as refuse to be apart — two memories of one instant, the same heat facing itself twice.
No trees — only canopy wet enough to close, then tear. Flame cracked at the core into the same riverbeds. One sister held the ring. The other let yellow through and dropped her green onto the white. Cobalt pooled lower where the jungle opened. Black rain in orbit, thrown clear of the pull. The relief is still that instant. They came apart once. They have not since.
Jungle Madness — Listen
