A bone to pick

There comes a time when a woman has a bone
to pick with a man, insert any male face
into that spacial illusion, it's all the same- present absence.
Men, getting them to face you is rainbow chasing.
I've always felt it, the missing bone.
Back to eden I went inside where he broke out of me.
No wonder they hide, they know they're thieves.
We've forgiven them over and over our dead bodies.
It doesn't matter, they don't care.
they stare blanky at the galaxy,
they try to measure themselves against our breaks.
We stare out from the universe, unmeasured
pouring milkyways into black holes.
It isn't our impotence that keeps them dark.
They are busy counting what is infinate.