bone of my bones

it’s not because I was formed out of your wimpy rib
it’s because you literally have more blood than me, blood-bag.

I have all kinds of other things that you wish for (maybe secretly):
ovaries, uterus, fat-sacks, thistles.

you are all grizzle and hair. 
and blood.

my girlfriend (on the other hand)
is a bone-bag;
she gets cold very easily.

we have to do this thing with fur-shirts.
it seems old-fashioned and scratchy,
but it works.

we also play a bendy, limbo-like game.
it gets our lack of blood flowing,
our backs bending.


--which is essential, if not scriptural--

because sometimes our cold spines settle 
in s-shapes, and we cluck all night in pain:
(gosh darn) hating the snakes that plague us.