A Graceless Tumble
Initially, I thought it was dawn
when drowse and comfort sided against me.
I'd mouthed the sorry cinders of pebbles
that one expects from a vanquished man.
A graceless tumble accrued in slumber
had proved so faulty in its design
that I careened to the marble floor,
which nearly cracked the crown of my skull.
Sorrows echoed from a tragic figure--
a penitent nestled beneath my breasts
who pounded enough to form a rupture
through that labial crevasse.
His wounds mirrored my own somehow;
a molten plasma spilled from his crown.
The embryonic shape of bliss
had exploded through my heart.