Bones.

I built a tower from my bones
for you,
shining to the sky.
I tanned my flesh
and used it for the walls.

My organs were the garlands,
hung carefully,
waiting for the celebration
that would make this self-degradation
worth it in the end.

My teeth paved the path
that you would arrive on;
my tongue was the carpet.
My eyes stood watch
at the gates.

The lights were hung.
I was ready

But you did not come.

The tower stands,
crumbling,
waiting.