tongue rolling off the roof of your mouth
(vainly attempting to douse the fire there, everywhere),
your lips part, the dam opens
and streaming forth (in equal parts spit and spite)
come epithet epiphanies:
revelations (though neither revels),
insight (though we both are blinded - by love, by pain, by having lain so long like so much carpet)
and truth.

and when the firewater flood at last subsides,
what face i had left the worst for facing it,
and the subsequent mean remains are disfigured, discolored,
telegraphing my every thought,
the time has come for lye to scour lie,
my reciprocation (a recipe for disaster)
an echo, a shallow copy, a failed attempt to fly
(our love, our voices) each time softer, less intense
until at last, when we both are exhausted, the time comes
and with it, slowly,