The Marrow and the Cocoon

I have cocooned:
Lain my sacrificial face,
palms, nails, breasts
against the altar
of your chest
and
cloaked the scales
of your skins around me.

I hear the whispers
in the night. The whispers
that reverberate against
your walls, my walls,
these bone-white
walls. The cocoon.

The warm vapor of my breath
pauses then swirls madly
like storm clouds, like freckles
of the moon, like flocks of birds in flight.

How long? How long is our night
and me sleeping inside you? Dreams
drip like saline from the holes of my tear ducts
and your fingers, your penetrating fingers,
reach to extract these visions of me.

I have cocooned
and am waiting in the crease
of your immaculate landscape:

Your forest, your valley,
your fruit, your seed.

I have sucked the marrow
and will let you lick
the syrup from my lips,
my teeth.