39/365, 20/30 The Nimble and the Frail

Our fingers have found the same light switch
in the dark
for years now
without waking one another from well-deserved sleep.
Our elbows have nudged each other
from beneath warm blankets
when babies cried at odd hours of night.
Our shoulders have leaned
or been leaned against
when answers were scarce
and words were not enough.
Our toenails have scratched each other accidentally
under the dinner table.
Our eyelids have tried
and failed
to hold back tears
and mask sarcasm.
Our lungs have found pace and rhythm,
exhaling comfort
the perfect warmth of breath
the clutching of hands
the embrace of mold and cast.