I won't clean my teeth in front of my lover
Lend witness to that thin red line
flung about the sink edge
when inevitably I have to spit.
Lay proof a crack, a leak,
a fault in the foundation.
Too much stress,
not enough sleep, or food,
or peace of mind,
to keep the tissue firm.
In the same respect, I will take him
whole into my mouth,
turn his minutes to hours
Run a tooth, a lip along the edge
a kiss sends him over.
Settle him in a nerve racked,
or nerveless semi-state,
too close to perfect, to(o) pure
to give thought to my mania(s).
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