In a Garden of Monsters

Not born,
but for each other made.

The jagged edges cut away
to shape the space
where you now fit.

Our oddly aranged
twisted limbs
interlocking
each with each.

Frankenstein-stiched,
you and I.
Simbiotic, at times
a horror; but too,
there is this:

Two trees,
red and purple plum
grafted together.
Roots and leaves,
stock and scion,
the whip and the tongue.

Bound,
and bearing rich fruit.