Bone Rose

After she has nearly razored off
both my ears, a fistful of hair
and a couple of shoulder sections,
in surprise, we agree
I should knock next time.

Her shurikens lie like dolls
on the ground by my feet,
smooth ivory puppets
with snapped strings.

A sheepish grin
and a brush of flaming forelock
from face.

"Don't go."
My words are as kneejerk
as her defence firings,
and fall clanging to the floor
just the same.

Without a word, she closes her eyes
and reaches towards her chest
as if to take out an organ
for an emperor's amusement.
Her bones twist
into a mock rose,
and she hands it to me
on the promise of returning
before the petals curl.