crest, gel, and bad oral hygeine

the plaque on my molars is half an inch thick
and tastes like rotting potato

the grit of it sings a power ballad
that aches from crown to root

that bleeds along the gums
and cracks walnut shells like a snare

swish, swish the green antiseptic
and the soft sting of joy

spit out the dreams of our best entanglements
tongues, twisted limbs and salty spasms
from our groins.

all of that, less
all of that more
all of that us
and the unbrushed incisors
we gnash with fear
that our toothless doom is here.