The Truth of the Bones

The Truth of the Bones  

Those acid tears have eaten away
the last ounce of flesh from that ample carcass,
and the autumn rains have washed the skeleton 
over the rocks of her memory where those bones 
lie bleaching in the sun of her returning smile.

That eyeless skull speaks the truth,
not like his blue liars of June
that promised to light the way to love.

That lipless mouth speaks the truth,
not like his flesh-rimmed hole 
that spewed poisoned honey.

Those fleshless arms speak the truth,
not like that soft, warm circle
that held her against that bloodless heart.

She can sing in measured tones: 

“You are bone-true
and now
I can
respect you.”