Molars.


“There is a thing about love I find enticing:
The way a look, a smile, a couple words
Can flow and twist like river’s rising
And crash like waves do onto fjords.”

He said a man could never love a woman
The way that I’d expect that love to go.
In fantasies, it’s all determined for them,
But in a real life we are all done for.

“There’s a belief I hide behind my collar.
I wear it as another suit and tie:
Love lives in every person’s molar,
The bite of it is sweet and kind.

Teeth puncture skin with enough pressure,
Deep dive the fangs, they tear enough,
They ravish you in sickly fashion,
Diseased with unadulterated love.

So stay the wounds and serve as a reminder
Of feelings that have once caressed your heart.
Another one is always doomed to find them
And feel a prick of guilt over a lovely mark.”

He bowed his head when I was raising questions:
“How does a man determine a false start?”
Sweet eyes of his now rested on my face and,
“How do you break a lonely lady’s heart?”

He asked me in return and now, awaiting answer,
He raised his chin to bring his collar up.
I sat there for a moment, “’Think I can’t, sir.
There’s not a thing with which I can come up.”

“Just like I thought,” he mumbled, all exasperated.
His breath has hitched, his tie became too tight.
He pulled it off and threw it on the pavement
Then stomped away with all the mustered might.

Therefore, I stood, confused and sure conflicted,
Reminiscing the words he tried to say.
Behind the way he held himself and how he acted
There only was one truth he wanted to convey.

As much as he tried to deny me,
His glossy eyes betrayed his clever look.
The man, so desperate to hide it,
Has never put a word down in a book.

Gathered the dust his story idly,
His tie beside me, what a lonely sight.
The one who loved this world so wildly
Has never felt another’s molars’ bite.