when I wake up
violet rays burn down their warmth
on my arms

I feel it staggering—
beads of heat on skin
slight burns on flesh

the temperature dwindles down
to this
to me
I am not the beautiful
they want me to be

reach your hands inside
and find what you will:
maybe geraniums and thick thighs

I'll leave the windows open for you
what else am I?

a tongue made up of suns
another form of heat

dig deeper and you'll find
exoskeleton of a dictionary
cartilage of the verbose
I am all bones.

white bones
oleander bones
toxic bones
mint bones
red bones

bones from me to you
for me AND you
still bones
broken bones

what is in my bones
isn't just empathy and the obvious shattering
it's something the foxes like to bite down on
and run away with
and throw into the pyre
of granite rocks and bloodstones

make a bone stew and you'll taste longing
you'll taste the lonely
you'll taste the red threads
at the bottom of the pot

that tie my wrists down
to the ground
where eventually
I will become it.