I lay by my wife and felt her fingers,

and then all her bones together –

a skeletal, scary thought

with a cold wind blowing through it –

so I hastened to add the rest,

first the organs and then the

blood and tissues I couldn’t name,

and finally the skin and

mass of golden hair.

But even then she wasn’t herself,

so I started decking her out

with all her qualities, her smile and

hard soft-heartedness,

her way of leaving things

and that twist when she dances.

And how she cooks, with her million recipes,

and curls up in the corner of the couch.

The further I went, the warmer she,

and the drowsier I,

got, and God it’s good

to sleep with her

and not with that bag of bones!