distance
Mouthguard
Hannah Blaser Gott I am jealous of your mouthguard. (So jealous that you didn’t wear it for three years.) Tonight, I watch you pluck it from the jar, fit it to your teeth. I think of the smoothness, how it was made for you. I have a desire to kiss you, right here, right now, but I run my tongue over my own teeth instead, in consolation: angry, jealous, betrayed. Love is like this sometimes. I am like this even more.
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