Last night I dreamed I was laying inside of his mouth, tucked safely under the blanket weight of his tongue. And from the hiding spot, I knew everything. Every electronic thought that danced through his brain and traveled quickly to the air in front of his lips, I was a part of. A little scrap of self placed on every syllable, like salt or a swear. I laid, chokingly immobile under waves of spit and was made whole. I found prayers and stories tucked between gum and tooth. I was flossing his soul. I was inside the softest and deepest of torture chambers, holding the ON switch in my lap.

When I thought I had woken during the night, I sat up in my dark bedroom only to see five foot bicuspids opening and closing before me. I slunk back under the comforter and touched the holes and little fibers unmistakable of the clicking organ. His flavor possessed my unconscious. I felt his breath. For once during the slow marathon of sleep, I felt as awake as I was at birth. As aware, as senseless, as whole. When I fell backwards into the dream, I fell into the quiet corner of his jaw, where the secrets and shames are kept. There I stayed.

If dreams were life, then all questions would be answered.

There I stay.