bones

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.

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