Yet I expect the same,
kneel without a prayer,
unzip with no looking,
take out what bulges,
like salt to my tongue.
The arrant uselessness
of my teeth, I just can’t
nibble, bite, all my rage,
chew as though a gum,
my mouth for spasms.
Lips know diphthongs,
but mine let out quiet,
the inaudible alphabet
of doubting, the sound
that trembles, my fear.
What goes up or down
is my heartbeat, passive
then hurried, my palate
not for rust or an alloy,
the muzzle in my throat.
