There are too many words
between us,
so much spoken
that should have remained
under my tongue.
I reach for them,
arms outstretched
to pull them back-
to wind them
around my teeth
like too much floss-
to swallow them,
bitter and angry,
like the seeds
of a pepper
too hot to let linger
on my lips.
That has always
been my fault,
hasn’t it?
My love of words,
and my inability
to keep them locked
behind bared teeth.
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