The bristles wrestle away the morning plaque
settled on my teeth. The ones in the far back,
I take care of first. Brushing up and down,
then left and right, all the way around.

That evening spent sitting on the terrace, you gave me your flannel shirt.
It was cold out, so I took it. But the armpits were wet with your sweat.

I lean over the sink, capture a mouthful
of cold water. I wait before I let it roll
around my teeth. Reflected towards me
is me, with gigantic chipmunk cheeks.

That afternoon I woke up, you looked so cute, refusing to let go,
arms wound so tightly around me. But I really had to get up and ***.

The water warms up a little bit. I start
to swirl and swish it through before I part
my lips. I release the lukewarm mixture
of grime and paste. Finally--the inside’s pure.

This morning, I feel the new smoothness of my teeth with my tounge.
Yea, you might be gone. But I’m pretty sure you were not the one.