My Bone Wife

My Bone Wife is an artifact
That no men keep as wives
I lovingly have crafted her
As though she were alive.

She is my grandest sculpture
My greatest piece of art
For in her curves and crevices
I find my blackened heart.

My Wife is small and slender,
She does not reach my height,
But her surface is the smoothest
Of a gleaming, moon-sick white.

My Bone Wife is obedient,
She never cries aloud.
In fact, I’ve built my Wife
So that she never makes a sound.

Each chiseled bone completes her
And imbues her with my will,
And her magic blessing-curse
Is that such art cost me to kill.

My Bone Wife is perfection,
She possesses every grace
With a body stole of faeries
And my buried mother’s face.

Still she stands, so slender,
In the pale gloom alone
Yet it soothes me when I think
Of where I stripped her every bone.

For I made her from their essence
Like liquor is distilled:
My Wife is made of bones
From all the faeries I have killed.

I know that when I rot
(In a nameless grave I’ll lie)
But we shall ever be complete:
My dead Bone Wife and I.