Dearest Mess Beside Me Fallen

            Dearest mess beside me fallen,
            tangled hair, half-open mouth, shuttered eye,
            to clean you up would be a sin
            no angel'd understand, 
            unless they'd also fallen thus.
            How could they know the symmetry of human lines
            broken?
            Tossed down we've been but not cast out.
            Shall we
            break
            some more?
            Smash the glasses.
            Spill the wine
            whose fruit fell from the garden here.
            Cut and drip, slice
            open
            the lines, peel back the skin,
            reveal it
            whole.
            Dew is beading on the vines,
            dawn is rising there.
            Dearest mess upon me rising,
            tangled hair, half-open mouth, shuttered eye,
            to clean me up would be a sin
            no angel'd understand 
            unless they'd also risen thus.