My joints ache.
They are cold and still,
tired from lack of use.
My joints ache to hold you,
to enfold you into the
cracks between
my bones.
Between my bones there is
space
where you would fit.
My joints ache.
Hunching, they are
crude in contrast,
rough
in comparison to your own.
They creak and groan
as they act out this dance,
almost forgotten steps slow
to form.
My joints
ache.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
My joints ache.
They are cold and still,
tired from lack of use.
My joints ache to hold you,
to enfold you into the
cracks between
my bones.
Between my bones there is
space
where you would fit.
My joints ache.
Hunching, they are
crude in contrast,
rough
in comparison to your own.
They creak and groan
as they act out this dance,
almost forgotten steps slow
to form.
My joints
ache.
