Bones

A curious locomotion,

As the fish ripples,

Dances almost as he skilfully cuts it,

Shedding the flesh of a once

Agile swimmer.

Careful to remove,

Tiny fins, scales and bones.

How peculiar is the way,

He lacerates his prey –

No shame in throwing the bones away.

After all, it’s food,

For the end of the day.

She sits at the ivory table

By the navy blue door.

Watches as he slits and dissects,

Wonders, if her own delicate body,

Can forever linger in his presence,

Embracing, caressing

The sharp edges of him

Without getting

Ruptured or discarded.

But he must know –

Her bones are always there.

You just have to want them

In your hands.