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Rom-Coms

Romantic comedy:
I flirt with myself over
feta dipped in oil with
rosemary; we toast at

midnight. Darling, won’t
you come over? I beg
with cracked teeth. My
dresses of crushed silk.

Whose design drives the
discourse? Everything is
uneven; organ, bone, never
blood, because it’s fluid.

The dentist wanted to kill
six bottom teeth and I
refused with a tight-lipped
shake-shake-shake of my

head. Your bite will look
much better, he said.
The proud bastard: I
never asked to be pretty.

There are so many filters
to choose from. Here we
have oat, almond, soy, and
regular milk. I wear foam on

my upper lip to coat my
dark incisors. I am broken
on the inside, where no one
can see it. Do you have any

idea how enchanting it is
to be feminine? My new
teeth glitter when I snap
back at your excuses.

Hold me steady—
your gaze keeps me
bound to a narrative
we are still writing.

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