I don’t know if you have ever imagined
Your own teeth
Rotting and brown like that man on the bus
I know I have
Every now and then my molars fall out
Leaving the void
I imagine
That when my teeth are gone I will finally
be able to whistle
That I will
get dentures
(or maybe not)
That people don’t expect too much
of the
toothless
That people won’t expect too much
of me
I suppose I never asked you
what exactly it was you that imagined on the grey-sky-days
When my face became less interesting
than the rain outside
I guess it was a sign that we disagreed
You know
I imagine
That The Toothless have a lot less difficulty
falling in love
Except
of course
for dentists