Sinews

The sinews from my strewn out muscles lay the skeleton of my blanket,

remind me of my strength, 

its fortitude when not forsaken. 

My fingers are held intertwined, because unlike you,

they will always be mine.

Here they cup around my waist,

always having room in their warm embrace. 

Strands of hair, 

and even while they are halved, broken, and split,

their growth repairs the hurt, leaving little remembrance of any misstep.  

A sheen of skin critiques the imperfections,

anticipates the movement and motions of this discordant body I’m sewn in. 

My breath gives it life, and for a moment, all I am is woven.