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.