Stones and Bones

If love is blind, he sighs, let your s k i n  s e a r  a n d crack, my eyes seal up and dry. Yes, love is blind, she cries, yet faults n o t  s e e n  a r e not,  nor  can love's vision lie. He meets she in the centre of rich fruit by poor hands torn of its meat and oil We play the games our hearts equip us for We roll our stones and bones around the floor