i cannot close my mouth,
it's agape and creaking and
there's dust and dirt,
it floats inside but never
floats out.
my mouth is a chest,
wooden and old and
full of stories and
full of the past,
that can be salvaged randomly
on a hot summer day,
and brought back to life and
given a new meaning.
but instead my mouth is dry,
and collects dust over dust from the
already passed times,
and it groans and
its bottom has warped from
that one time the basement was flooded.