bones by bones
folded neatly
he lay
near the grass
in
the meadow;

the little
bluebird
who
fell from the
boughs with
his tiny
pin feathers
rattling
in the wind.

we
are old bones - we
do not oscillate
we
do not
hide our
skeletons
in closets, no,
they
are restrained to
the yawning
space
beneath the
blankets:

shin
folded over
shin,
tibia linked
with
tibia,
radius and
ulna
entwined
upon radius and
ulna. my

hands
will seek out
your face, your
hair, your
cheekbones, that
space connecting
your jaw
to your
neck. there

is
skin enough
for the frivolity of love, but
there is not enough
skin
to cover the
absence
of you.

and
we have fallen
from the boughs -
bones by bones
folded neatly we
lay
near the grass in
the
meadow.

09/22/2011

Author's Note: We are not done.

Posted on 09/26/2011
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