Stitch

Life has funny ways of spinning stories
Little threads that bring together the two
Halves of one whole person until they
Extend their existence with another

Their hands now stitched at four instead
Of two legs they walk four-legged but
Never crawl in the presence of another
Because support is built on their beams

And every laugh is played over twice
The little sighs ring in twos instead of ones
Surveillance is heightened in the unknown
And hand holding is twelve times as tight

The only fear that really stands against them
Is the splitting of the fabric, the tearing of the
Neat knit work and the fall out that follows
Afterwards, the staples in their skin and bones

Yet the fear is pushed away by the joy
Radiating brightly for all the recognize
That these people do not live in the absence
Of the other, they merely wait, eerily unanimated

Together though, a most beautiful machine
Never running on the fumes of darker days
Because if the hours are plagued by shadows
All one has to do is turn on the lights again

The car drives where there are now two drivers
The late night talks in the midst of silence
As the world spins slowly round and round
They orbit differently, in their own galaxy

Where every unwalked road is tackled
By a pair of bodies thick as thieves stealing
Photos and memories to remember and
Hanging them on the tighter strings

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