"Little skeletons what the owl ate"

A month ago
in biology lab
you sat close to me
knee touching mine
your sweet smell
almost drowning out
the formaldehyde stink
which crinkled up
your nose
while I dissected
our fetal pig.

Now I take apart
this owl pellet
small bag that holds
skin and hair and bones
little skeletons
what the owl ate
but couldn’t digest
and coughed back up.

You sit with Jon Fox
ignore me completely
laugh at his dumb jokes
let your head fall onto
his bony shoulder
while I attempt
to piece together
with trembling hands
the tiny bones
of a baby snake.

Certain things 
are just about
impossible
to swallow. 
(by Ralph Fletcher)

Romance can flourish anywhere! 
I always pop into  the massive old stone barn that adjoins the long-disused grand stables of a former mansion turned hotel and camping venue. The barn floor is littered with  pellets  dropped by owls on the beams above. Some, no longer encased by mucus,  have disintegrated. Once I found clothes moth cocoons protruding from the pellets (blipped here) but not today, maybe too early in the year. No owls were visible either, they are very retiring in nature.

Extra: the old stables, disused for many many years.