His Bones
Everywhere she goes,
She carries his bones in a
Scarlet velvet sac.
His hands a wind-chime,
His skull a flower pot, His
Spine framed and hanging.
Every night she sings his
Song, sorrow giving life to
Otherwise flat notes.
A shrine adorned with
Coffee, candy, and cigars.
She prays to her saints.
With his foot in her
Mouth, she dreams of red roses
And his meat on hers.