The feel of a carpenter ant
beneath your tooth
back hairs like brillo pad prongs
oil coming off the stinking bastard
the way his pincers clattered against the spoon,
biting stupidly thinking he’ll break skin
his last time
as your tiny teeth pressed him
white guts and black shell
along with the cornflakes (more…)

Your side of the bed is spicy in odor
but cold.
It is not at all you;
not at all like my mouth when we kissed

I liked kissing you
on your side of the bed
licking the backs of your teeth,
never caring if your breath was
first thing in the morning
or last thing at night
or after you’d eaten cheese.

Your side of the bed is Old Spice
and still discarded beer cans
It’s a mess over there
because I haven’t
been over there in a while.

It’s a mess over here, too,
over on my side of the bed
because I haven’t left
in a while.