Enameled edge slips against wet flesh
Rending lines and curves along my inside
Inflammatory reaction to oral missteps
Turning the cyclic frame another rotation
I wince against the persistent pain
Adamant to be heard through layered aid
Solutions, salves, and balms unequipped
For the madness of my mastication
Until feathery green plumes slip out
Unfurling their promised lotus fruit
To numb memory carved against gray matter
And I fall into fitful sleep once more.
- CL Huth