Your lips: not thick, not supple, soft,
your slick tongue strong as a slug,
too much gum for some people
but I appreciate all that pink.
Each of your teeth like a baby pearl
sharpened into something squarish,
and each not quite but almost white,
so perfectly spaced that I find myself
sinking into each sliver of a gap
every time you slip on that sly smile,
parting your lips just to purse them again
and parting once more to please me,
but tonight I'll only see your sick grin
in memories meant strictly to tease me.
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