lost thoughts of dinner

when i awoke your dust outline
had faded to a pale chartreuse
i slithered down the bed post
carrying your conscience
in my cleavage
your mouth falls open
jaw tweaked to the left
leaking out verses
and sonnets and tomorrows
i lick each word
tasting like black coffee
and dry southwestern air
you drag your mandible
into the loom
weaving the hair you
cut from head
into the oriental rug
of promised pasts
my scalp bleeds into
your pant leg
like a long-faced rose
but when the stitches
are cut from the eyelids
the table of cold skinned fins
and the tiniest dress
are in the mirror
facing today