If then you were to murmur

You stain your bedclothes and
several duvets with tea leaves and animal
milk when you wake in the
night and the clock has turned off.
Then you stumble around in the dark
of your chamber and you clutch and knock
over any number of valuable objects suck as
Faberge eggs.

If then you were to murmur
unintelligible words, I would not
hear you and I would not
care to hear you mumble.
I would stop to watch you only flash
boil. To evaporate instantly from
the folds of my medulla, from
the tunnels in my bones, from
the valves in my arteries, form
the folds of my dermis, from
my scalp, from my hands, from
the knuckles I crack.

You knock over an oil lamb
and cut your hands on broken glass.
Suck the wound till it
hurts no more.