Can there be anything
More parsimonious,
Than two, trying to broker
A bonding interface, between the front line,
Of one council of teeth, and scrimshawed
Chess pieces of another?
To embolden a moment of madness,
When little dentine monoliths
Take a back seat, while pushing forward
A purse that willingly opens up to be
The loudest in habit, yet evicting a moment
That is silent, nimble and melt-prone.
When my wife looks at me from the gate
And re-surfaces on my waiting lips
To exonerate touch, in feel-digits
A peck, a whisker, and still a mouthful,
Of raw, distinguished chemistry, which when in lapse,
Is the most primal contradiction
Of gender, balance and force,
Always endangering the moment after
With indecision…
In the sheer indiscretion,
Of the quintessential coincidence.
