this makes my tongue sweat

A toothpick,
to unpick your ivory tower
you cower at the pulpit, we don’t fit,
give it away to the next stray cat.
Black and white.
One day young,
paint and coal dust in the
lost depths of my lungs,
short sharp teeth bite with now,
at my thumbs, peripheral digits
come undone.
An ode to
remembering to forget
expectations of the past.

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