My Last Bone Poem by Mark Heathcote

My Last Bone



I have welcomed death; his gaze
his thoughts, his Valentine's Day kiss
his black tulips pressed against
my blood-filled, lustful lips.

Death is not my foe; we are bedfellows
toe to toe, I am the prairie
he is a prairie dog, loyal and honest
when I am lost, he leads me home.

But with a wagging tail, I'll savour
and unearth my last bone.

Thursday, February 16, 2012
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