I.28

 

Fluoride



I’ll give you a mint from my tin

If you tell me it tastes like your toothpaste again—

The kind that’s striped red, white, and green.

The simmering sounds will coil up from your throat

Over your tongue to tickle your teeth.

Things most erotic are hardly seen.

The soft smokey tone of your voice

As it drifts from your lips in a whisper to me

Is received a paean, though spoken in prose.