I’m a small jaw at rest on a desk, fed slender rations of silver. Press my back and I forge a bridge, two loose wanderers now bound together. Starve me, and I only bite the air.

I make borders, but I do not make countries. People often cut me.

Born of fire, yet cold to touch, my form is held tight in your clutch. Married timber, sheet of steel, I have no legs, and yet one heel. I am not meek in ending strife, my edge defines the line of life.

I make it easy to squirt in all the right places, but I am not made of flesh. You might see me in the backyard or garden .

You tap, I glow as a tiny sun, I hold your secrets and shame. You say you’ll quit me: sure, that’s fun Then you use me just the same.