Staring at your teeth
While you talk

I see the white peak from yellowed roots
The brownish blank that holds no tooth
The brown-to-pink gradient of your overhanging lip
The gap in the front through which your tongue's tip might fit

I see the smile-stained corners flicked by foam
The lecture-licked lining of your rows of brittle bones
The wide and squinted opening that emits your sunny breath
And the erratic, untrained movements of one who is native to French