Front

His teeth were endless,

but sometimes a whistle chirped
when he spoke with his tongue wet,
I snort and grind what's left,

the last day's always best.

He asked for my address,
where my hips split and bent,
but I listened to my head:

that room's been compressed,

and silence settles better
when I hear the lighter crackle
without his lips caked and circled,

my afternoon is running.

Now it throbs outward
from a center which