Teeth Marks

Teeth Marks
a something by mjk

Your words spoke of absolution, or some other long word you don’t know how to spell and don’t know what it means, but you like the way it sounds. And while you sat there tapping the pen against your bottom lip (it’s mine and don’t you dare stick it in your mouth even if you asked so sweetly for a bit of time with my ink) trying to come up with a rhyme, I told you maybe it didn’t have to, that the words could work magic on their own without a gimmick. Your eyes flickered upwards/downwards and fixed me with disdain, as if you are the poet and I am just the silly scrap of paper you’re scribbling on. Scraps of blank paper don’t talk back, neither do pens, so you act shocked when you see the mouth move and hear the sounds vibrate yet never stop to acknowledge the words I form. The thing of it is, you asked and I gave, then you took and you left and I’m just stuck here examining the teeth marks in the cap, wondering if they’re yours or mine, wishing I had brought another pen.