Buried Bones

Buried bones
hold no souls.
Spirits are in the living.
Life is the malleable
flesh we touch,
and skin that will
bloom and flush
in a rush of lust,
shame or excitement.
A quickening.
A hardening.
A pumping of blood.
A screaming release.
A slow slide into softness.
A gentle, pulsing peace.
And on to sleep
like a passing.
Waking to renewal
and resurrection.