Take my coat and hang it by the door next to others.

Rip my shirt, button by popped button, tie it around your waist.

Pick up the little black things and put them in your pocket.

Undo my belt, wrench it until the loops split, curl it up.

Slide down skinclung trousers. Fumble with my feet and socks.

Cut off my boxers. Naked, take in my scent and shy eyes.

With a razor shave my hair, brows, pubes; store them in a pillowcase.

Use your fingers to peel off the dead skin from my heels.

Tap my head three times to unlock my skull, open the cavity

prise out my brain and let it dry on the windowsill.

Shed off my case and dump it shrivelled by your bed.

Wipe the blood from my musculature and smear it on your clothes.

Use spoons and knives and forks and dismember my limbs.

Put my toes and fingers in your dog’s bowl.

Crack open my ribs, suck the breath from my lungs.

Siphon the wine of me. Decant it with the rest.

Use my tendons as thread, my bones as knitting needles.

Gouge my eyes and add them to the necklace you wear.

Take it all. Everything. Now.

Bare, wordless, prop me up, a model skeleton for your museum.