The Rival

The rival appears of light and earth and black periphery!

He stares me into flowers and sings me into a room of people, pushes me through a curtain and beats on the beams of the afterlife. Then he bears me from the loveseat to the bed, further to esteem, to loathing, and back to the loveseat again.

The rival coos seriously, "Don't think of jumping out the window," and I had no idea there was a window out of which I was considering a jump, but only a room in which a great rivalry is playing out.