To rearrange us you can’t buy a paint-by-numbers kit
And expect me to be 3, leaf green, and you 4, sunlit yellow,
Nicely cut and trimmed to a composite shape by our own black lines.
You’ll have to slice off my arms first and put them back by my side
Unclasp our fingers, and probably trim around the hearts
With a sharp crafter’s knife, the kind that cuts through glass and putty.
To be composite and self-sustaining there must be blood,
Preferably your own but probably mine too, since we are joined at the hip
Like a gingerbread couple baked together.
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