it’s good when the bones show,
her fingers say to me as they dig into my clavicle

she vivisects me
and holds me up to the light
scraping my ribs bare

i will (shop)lift the dirt from your body,
she promises.

and my bones will bleach to the purest white,
a shade still too dark for her,

not by the sun,
but by her pelvic bone that curves like a knife,
her words that cut to the marrow.