Mouths are weird things,
full of teeth,
and unsharpened blades
Things nobody means,
things nobody says
but think about
think about until mouths give up
and spill an entire book
“i’m sorry i’m drunk but”
“why couldn’t you just”
“do you think about the night”
mouths crack open like some dental procedure
and novocaine becomes my tongue
I wrote an entire book
with things I couldn’t say to you.
Like how inside your mouth it kind of made sense,
Like how inside that bar on the corner of Holloway Drive and Santa Monica Blvd. I wanted you to kiss me,
Like how inside the internet I still see pictures of your ex girlfriend all the time
doing the things I’m trying to do.
Like how inside your apartment the overabundance of football gear made me wish I cared about sports,
Or cared about something
Or cared about anything
the way I cared about you.