That’s what you remind me of.
The way you stick
like trying to liberate
a particularly stubborn fragment.
That expert maneuvering of fingernail
and tongue. Like an itch bunkered between
my first and second molar. Leaning
over a sink, my index prodding. A convulsion
that stains my saliva a chocolaty brown
before I feel you released from your roost.
I spit into porcelain, watch the rush of water
wash traces away – stand spent
for one more savor of you.
©2012 This work is the property of the author.