our love is like bones
not the type of bones from the corpse of a man
not the type of bones artfully arranged on the back of a motorcycle jacket
but in the joints of the bones
where two of them come so closely together
lightly touching, yet supporting movement
it is in the growth plate of the bones
where the cells of our love multiply
sometimes unhealthily
but usually making the both of us stronger
it is in the osteoblasts
where we mend past blunders and build new memories
it is in the bone marrow
where it is so intimately warm, so crucially vital
that my whole being relies on it
that without our love, I feel as if I could shatter into fragments upon fragments
until all that remains of me is a mere dust
our love is like bones
the tender kind