The Blood & The Bones

everyone thinks I’m a wanderer

maybe I was

but lost is a foreign word

to the gypsy

and to those who know what you can learn to feel

when you stick around beyond lust

I may be a rambling woman

or is that only for men?

but if I sit still long enough

perhaps I could be found each time you enter

and each time you let me in

and a little more each time

I leave my shoes by the door

and my busted heart

on the key ring

I might be found inside

the lines of your eyes

and the unexpected brutality

of your often tender loving

and maybe I am there when you wear my name

on your lips

like the cross I wore

that burned its mark between my breasts

when I could no longer claim innocence

I was never much of a runner but I ran just the same

I was never much of a root yet I find myself growing in this place

but I am not lost or necessarily found

and I no longer have to want to wander or wonder

maybe home is when I am at your side and at your mercy

but the cage door is still left open

the blood

& the bones