Fresh for longer

 

I understand the purpose but hate the feeling of mouthwash.

The cut blue sharpness of your muscle tongue,

the base of which thrust harshly visible at the root

of your desire to be sanitary.

To taste curt hygiene, slick coat

masking all human muck and sediment. 

The shame of my face no longer offensive, 

in line with overeager courtesy, showroom facade.

I don’t want my teeth to fall out 

but then I don’t mean them to stand as smiling placation either.

Instead then to shape my words filth 

conjure germs that spread dis-ease and teaming scum 

indiscriminately.

Mint-green incest faggot cum all over me, 

but don’t stain these pearly whites. 

 

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