your coffee spill & tobacco tarmac smile / let me taste how you live //
my dentist scrapes polka dots onto incisors / her x-rays uncover darkness abloom in unexpected places //
I have not misplaced my gums / those germ reservoirs //
(she whispers) / bleed them dry / (she commands) / my emergent jawbones / ivory economy / her lip-quivering joy / her leather stool’s pneumatic rapture / my sweet molasses spit //
you can choose whether to sip / on the first date //
plaque is a thief with forethought / (she warns) / my arteries / my liver / it coagulates in quiet corners //
now is not the time for science //
I swallow bottles of mouthwash weekly in paranoia / it’s not paranoia / (she assures) / a pinky vivisection / let light inside / find the pale recalcitrant halos / (she threatens) / or prove I’m a collection of good ones / in need of polish //
I was saving that line for you // (for you)
-- Jason Fraley is a native West Virginian who lives and works in Columbus, OH. Prior publications include Quarter After Eight, DIAGRAM, Caketrain, Copper Nickel, and Forklift OH.