out of my mouth, I miss
the power that it gave me. To feel

the soft pink cells of the gums tear, rip
this body apart with my own hands.
This is not to say I want to die

but to say I want to feel
the new enamel growing in, I want

its subtle, groaning pain. I have lived
in this cold place for several years now and I miss the rain

like my tongue misses baby teeth. I need
something to quench the thirst for
rolling bones around inside my mouth,

to smell wet concrete and mud. I need a downpour
to shock me back to life. I slowly run

my fingers all along the edges of my teeth.
I bite down hard.