At my book release party for Pickled Miracles, I played a game called “3 for $5 in 5.” Guests could pay me $5 and give me three words, topics, subjects, etc. I would then take 5 minutes and write a poem. It was a great experience and I’ve been getting back into it. For this one, a friend gave me the three topics above.
Standing in the midst of the pile of bones
A femur deep and snow dark night
I can still feel you in me
There’s a time that I recall when we split a bottle
To keep warm and the only thing that we had
Other than each other
Was the burning of amber liquid flame
That passed from your lips to mine
And we would wake up a tangle of one another,
Parched, desert dry,
And the ice would still stay there.
I want the midnight chanting again,
The worshipful thighs and fingers and you
You in your glory above me
Fingers feather length and falling
Upon me.
The wolves came and took you,
They smelled the spices and you left me
Facing an oblivion of memories, an abyss where
The darkest parts of us
Would be pleasant compared to the
Inexplicable loss of it all.
I run with the wolves now,
And the cold is home,
The drink is done, and it’s the only way
I can get at you, because your heart is still left
At the bottom of the pile of bones
Which is our bed now,
Haunting you.
bohemian.on.rye 
haunting and articulate. Just what I needed when I needed it.
That’s one of the best things a writer can hear. Thanks, Gabe.