The journey from teeth to throat is short.
I have a need to get inside, to sit
surrounded by bric-ā-brac and lamps
and to ask: how was I left out again?
It is that unbearable dripping faucet.
Bones must bend or they break.
You laugh, flip pages as if firing,
I am fascinated by the sound of shots,
you sit, the light in your lap, on the same sofa
life is so full,
there is no space to sleep.