Your Collar Bone
Saturday Poetry Prompt: infatuation
My eyes always came to rest on your collar bone, my love.
Sleek as a deer, mysterious in its hollows. Elegant as the tail of a dolphin at its quill end.
There’s a hide-and-seek about it, a game of some kind. The thrill of a chase.
Your collar bone throws shadows. Hinting of caverns beneath the earth’s surface, full of cool ponds, where even algae don’t dare to assemble.
No, it is untouched. Just as untouched as your deep, mysterious heart. I know not for whom it beats. If it beats at all.
I wonder if the hollows are bottomless. If I send a sonar signal, will it echo around and boomerang back to me?
Will it tell me secrets no one has fished for, in the profound depths of your soul?
Do you have a soul?
In ancient times they drew pictures on the cave walls. Those pictures were drawn by quills, made of your collar bone.
And when they were done, they wrapped your collar bones in sheepskin, and buried them deep under the earth.
For no one to find.
Sacred rituals were done, incantations were sung. Sage was burned.
