not other's tongues 

who hasn't eaten 
their whole tongue before
while they were asleep?
that night hunger
that demands swallowing 
it grows back
of course but slowly
i open my mouth 
in the mirror 
a blank room 
all those back rows
of teeth i'm not
used to seeing
little off white rocks 
as if there's a shoreline
i didn't know about
in the back of my throat
i think about cow tongues 
in the case at the butcher shop
& fields full of cows 
without their tongues
they open their mouths 
to each other as if to ask
the other cows if 
someone is really eating
their tongues tonight
i eat my own tongue 
not other's tongues 
though one time i was
kissing a boy & he bit
my tongue which i thought 
was strange & for a moment
i wondered what that would
be like to feed someone else
a piece of my body
if, he might, like a dog
scarf the limb down
if the blood would pool
in my mouth
yes that's where the ocean 
would come in
the blood would just
go out into the ocean 
spilling over the teeth-rocks
he didn't of course
he just bit the tongue
i'm the one eating here
& i'll spend today 
checking my mouth
& waiting for the tongue
to start re-growing
a tiny little 
tongue-bulb pushing
up from the soil bottom
of my mouth 
drink water 
whisper kindnesses
to the tongue 
i tell the tongue
i'm sorry for what
i do in my sleep 
but that in our sleeps
we're not really responsible
for what we do
that's someone else
who sleeps for us
& conjures our strange dreams
of tongues moving
across the ground 
like fat worms
i give the tongue
sunshine & open my mouth
to the back window where 
the beams sneak in 
i tell the tongue
i'll try not to do it again 
& my yard fills up with cows
all without tongues 
come to warn my tongue
not to grow back
i tell the cows to hush
i tell the cows i need 
at tongue
even though i know i'll
bite it off again
it's body falling
perpetually past the rocks 
& into the ocean