Drips riddle a rubble into puddles, lick lakes and pratfall
like a tongue
Nourished in silence you take back your lips,
They've never worked your mother says,
Your teeth must bear the wind.
In French films you will admire the kisses.
At a party her teeth turn and follow me
Like a promise of the sun
They think I can return their friendsI cough to hide the laugh and take her home.