Pile of old bones
We creak and groan with any movement
The wind sighs through usÂ
Weathered and worn but
Melded
Together
Woven like wicker baskets our
Limbs entangled
To
Create
A 90* angle
Not wrong
But right
Just the right angle
We form an L in the bed
Fused in all the right places
Like a rope formed
From many ropes
We are stronger when we’re together.Â
