"Consumptuary," I said, Deliciously rolling the words About My Mouth. "Ossuary," came the reply, Each and every femur Bumping the metaphorical lid of the psyche. "Not -" Appalled Repelled At language's Failure. "No," with her smile, And a laugh, And a pirouette, "Not at all, But bones in a box." And with that, a precise little cough. And now, in labor, Creating a box, A cute little box, Lined in finest marble, Long enough for tibias, And, with the finest of chisels, "XDR" in the corner. Let the archaeologists wonder. Perhaps they'll cough, too, And have use of the box.
Noir Wordplay
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I save
these architectures
when the envelope of words arrives
in the box
the inbox
speaking of boxes
and later I savor
the opening
call me
an accidental archaeologist
I delight
that you share
the banquet of words
it inspires and awakens
I percolate
and unpack
this potluck
casserole
in this box