I slice grief
down to the bone

pull the meat off
with my bare hands
until I can’t wash it
off

Will you let me 
hold your head
in my hands
fingers still dripping?

Will you
kiss the funeral
of my body

each weeping chair
catching rain
on the grass?

I slice grief
down to the bone
then grind the bone
into powder

Are you hungry for
the marrow of me?

Can you touch me and
come away

still clean?

To The Bone, Caitlyn Siehl

(via alonesomes)