Abecedarian With Sensodyne
A hard smart under hot wash of coffee.
Beneath the pulped swell of winter
citrus or a sharp draw of winter air. Not
delicately, Dr. Wayne tested each molar
etched through. In sleep I will
fit one to another and scrape. What
gnaws at me: my own mouth, now
hindered and harbored by this night guard.
In the day, set aside, its plastic holds a phantom
jaw. Dr. Wayne advised softer bristles,
kinder hand. Even in care, I have
long justified roughness.