Chanteuse

Last night

I sang for them

my songs.

In yellow light,

I inhaled the silence of their eyes;

the soft glint

of their longing,

deep within my belly.

With my first breath,

I tore a tender hole.

Dark,

I let them fall.

How their souls filled my throat!

My tremble was a hunger.

Milk streamed on air,

blood's ivory sculpted by my tongue,

within the shivering marrow

of sleeping ears,

skulls hidden, 

haunting kindling's chords;

I burned my naked voice-

pyre's flesh of sound, 

flames seeping out,

each vowel's small miracle, a spoon,

skimming full the cream of death.

I gathered their dreaming mouths,

and drowned them,

on the music in my breast.