One arm reaches out to give and be loved for it. The other arm, across the axis, guards the appetite that will not say please. Jupiter and the Black Moon stand on opposite ends of one see-saw, and neither holds its ground without the other pushing back: your hunger for horizon stares straight at what you refuse to house-train, and the untamed part bristles every time you angle for approval. Some days the smile goes too wide. Other days the exiled hunger cracks the pleasant face wide open. The two keep arguing across the gap, and that argument is the point. Your largeness grows not by picking the agreeable pole, but by holding it against the one that bites.