Vulture

It is not stone that fills this creatures chest.

It is a heart.
That beats.
Warm and pulsing.
Sending blood to veins and muscles, human as I am.

This skeleton;
A home,
A past feast.
It is where they choose to perch,
Frowning up at the pulsing sun.

Unhappy, scrawny flesh 
Does not reflect their innards.
A wilder beast collapses in a cloud of dust.
Dusk hits the sky,
They have never been so content.

Author's Note

Need to sort out punctuation.