Saturday, April 11, 2009

Poem 11

I think upon your lovely set of teeth
No two exactly alike (like snowflakes, but more resolute)
So useful to man; for precise mastication,
And the playful nibbles of your mouth's coy nictitation,
The downy hairs blinking along your superior lip.
Should these ivory dice be misplaced
Broken or buried,
They will always recover their value to me--
The teeth of ghosts glisten like dried honey,
They stick together as they shut upon nothingness,
Biting beyond desire's crumpled limits,
But a ghost can still lap up milk
With it's rag of tongue, so leave out a bowl.
Some things are in it for the long haul.

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