Our Mouth

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Our teeth in beds of glass, walled by glass,
and submerged in the night.
Mugs would’ve been as able, brown rims, bodies of
teal: gifts from the couple—our couple—

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forgetful of what they leave behind and
where. “Staring at each other in silence.”

Had wanted to dance you to somewhere,
but the horror of TV is how it’s not horror;
the news, either trivia or a trip sweet to pity,
itself an evil crumb to stomach. Could sleep on it,

allow the fallen to “wash over us in waves,”
excess cargo in the hold of their sex,
children bagged plastic
wrapped in parents.

Car needs replacing if you’re looking to
help. We needing nothing,
will soup the rest of my life.
Will smile for you / For staying.
Laugh with you
the pink trembles of our throat.

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