blankets hiding broken bones

he moulds his body to hers
he always said, "like two pieces in a jigsaw puzzle"
and she always rolls her eyes
and stops herself from asking about the missing pieces

he curves into the softness behind her knee
his chest aligns perfectly with her back
because they "fit"

but sometimes his arm around her waist
feels too heavy

she tried to tell him
"we fit perfectly only when we sleep"
but he misunderstood -
took it to mean that she liked falling asleep
with him inside her
another piece of the intricate puzzle

he moulds his body to hers
and she inches away
thinking
the spaces might deceive him
and he'll think - as always in cliches
that they've grown apart

but he doesn't

so she takes to sleeping afternoons
and at night, while he sleeps
she sits in the living room
watching the hands of the clock move
endlessly in circles
never going anywhere
"like me" she thinks, in a cliche

she gets up
and quietly goes back to bed