Sticky Sour Dancing

Let us turn on the lights
and take off this skin we are in.
The only thing to come
between our shadows
shall be our bones.
I like the way the light catches
our vulnerability, quivering
in the beds of old fractures.
And the smell of our marrow mixing,
sticky sour dancing under my nose,
wets my tongue, and spills my secrets
through barren valleys, split
between the grooves beneath my hips.