Failure has black teeth. Gritty with the tar.
They smear it on the ground where it sleeps.
Break the teeth. They are of no use here.
When my mouth opened for the first time
A little noise was heard, like a curtain
blowing against the shutters at night.
But no words were spoken. The last time
my mouth opened, you looked inside:
The speculum held my lips apart in a circle,
Your flashlight left a glitter in my eyes.
I do not know what you saw. But afterwards
You smiled and wiped your hands off quietly.
If you could not find the love I know I owe:
Forgive me. Inside of my own body
A small beetle races around, antenna up,
searching for feeling before falling
Through every absence it finds.
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