Wednesday, July 13, 2011

bones of contention

bones of contention

when i piled these bones
of contention
at the foot
of your bed

i was not building
a pyre—
bones don't burn
as i do for you

fire is not
my consummation
when sinew & flesh are not
beneath my fingers

as i take you
by the wrist
for hopscotch
or Red Rover;

but our ceremony
is no game—
not for children
all flesh & bone

no, we tango
you, skirted
me, blue-jeaned
intertwined, erstwhile

we two fabricated
intoxicated as fire
as if unwatched
embers in the rising night

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