Postcard Poem # 2 (Hypodontia)

N. : Born without wisdom teeth

“There’s room for cities in there,
for ferris wheels, boxing rings, Sunday school classes
she has so much empty space
between her tongue and voice.”

I thought this meant
to match my other gaps,
the negative space in my embraces
the hairline divide in splitting cells
the white, hollow sound
as I look across the crowded bar
of couples

but when you pulled me in
in the mezzanine
pressed your kiss into me
I think you learned what longing tastes like
the fear of being hoped for
a soft blue need you didn’t expect

I watched your form leave mine
your slow, heavy steps
make you one shape with the night.

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