Beauty of the Bones

Beauty of the Bones

Their splendor
outdoes
the dull shine
of your flesh.
That pink tint
fixes itself, not
like the blush
that rippled
down your jowl
and around
your fat neck,
guardian
of your worm-
plagued Adam's
apple.
That belly swore
a greedy appetite—
this won't do.
Give me
your backbone
straight-arrow,
your ribcage
circling birdless,
your hipbones
never swaggering
a promise
of a good pump
they won't keep.
The click
of my bony
knuckles
on your dry
skull barks
a sweeter tone
than the chimes
of your voice box.
The beauty
of your bones
clacks a bare truth—
your ripe flesh
proved all
I cracked it up
to be.