Mouths are sockets for curses
so I spread your mud thin
with my unspoken words.

You are clay, and I am the mouth
that spits you loam-red into
a brittle bowl of instabilities.

You are frost, and I am the thaw
that returns your fullness
to the earth.

Dream-stirred, you wake up
with a fever. The throbbing
in your temples is the scream

of the years. I am the first layer
of darkness you shall see
when you blink your eyes shut.