Lip Service...

I once dreaded the old saliva glands,
they tend to get in an uproar
when you shove your tongue
down my throat, eager,
a tongue lying for truth.

The wind is now blowing more powerfully, and it whispers loudly, like a thousand lips shushing high up in the sky, as it sifts through my mouth, as dry as the desert a second ago, now awash with saliva, as this piece of cactus begins to take on the disturbing consistency of raw flesh,

the back of the throat collapsing over the air.

It's bad for your teeth,
to brighten someone's day,
now, like a plague
that children find amusing.