A Shelf

I have a shelf
At the base
Of one of my
Teeth

Where sweet words
Have crept in
And left their
Mark.

I’ve tried
Filling it up
With fiction

But it’s
Sensitive
To knowledge.

I’ve considered
Ornaments
And trinkets

But it’ll
Never hold
The weight.

So it just sits there
Receding,

It’s sheen
Lost to bleeding,

It’s coat
Never gleaming

If it could sleep
It’d be dreaming

Of a mouth
Far finer than mine.

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