My lipless
silver teeth, icicles,
a hundred tiny razors
on a hungry blade
biting away
at my fleshy meal;
playing a
grotesque form
of tic-tac-toe;
with whom?
Does it matter?
Not really; only for
this bite, I live;
the copper
complements
my own metallic flavor;
the accidental
slip, or not
so much...
A wince. I mark
my final X,
two jagged
red lines;
in triumph, I drink
my sweet
merlot; a toast,
to my opponent,
my partner;
we have both won.