The Dream

the bloodstain was very discreet,
not at all an oozing gob of gore:
a tiny smear of red hiding among the shadows,
the details of its' origination lost in a folded sheet
underneath the sweetest candle on Christmas Day.
there was an elaborate tea party downstairs
where all the fires were lit
and guests with their presents were seated
in a large black leather chair which wrapped around them
like a shroud.
although they dreamed of climbing to the second floor,
to the bedroom where my forehead stretched over an entire pillow,
it was closed to their entry in spite of the richness of their gifts.
i sat naked with the bloodstain, quiet in a deep brown armchair.
the stone in my hand would soon become a woman
who would dance on my mind with her mouth.