carn(assi)al

I’ve been assured that teeth are made of inorganic tissues. But I swear they are cognizant. Must be made of grey matter. I swear they remember the things that I thought I would forget. It takes exactly two hands /one at meeting of waistband and hips, the other fingers lost where hair feels alive against neck/ for them to exert the amount of pressure that it takes to break the skin along a collarbone. They are sure of the number of times tongue has moved past them like prisoner-escaped to writhe in foreign mouth. They can count to five because they have learned the amount of fingers that have pressed /scream against palm. scream-silent-scream. you’ll wake the neighbors, scream/ against and over them. And even bicuspids are aware of the pitch of that heat-soaked ache of a sound that not even hands /bite-down, bite-down, bite/ could quell the vibrations of. And they are cavity-pained yearning to learn the way your name will taste /heavy-sweet-full/ as it syrup-drip pours, unyielding, repeating.