Can there be anything
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
In the sheer indiscretion,
Of the quintessential coincidence.