Scars embroider his knees
like tally marks.
Remnants of an appropriately active
The ring around his neck,
his mother never quite scrubbed away,
a forever stain banded black and blue.
should finally pat it clean.
Twin incisions cut deep and clean
across his chest above a third
plunging down the center of him,
together posed upon his skin
like questions unfurled
in hopes of closure.
Bending the bars of his rib cage
until they split wide,
a bone blossom unveiling
a blush of stale humour.
His lungs are strong,
a certain shade of bubble gum,
and would have ballooned
just as well.
His heart is sufficiently volumed
for all the life still trapped in it,
seems too light to have succumbed
to 90-odd pounds plummeted.