Second Mouth

Other-lips     whispering     between my legs. What they called black hole     not-thing is really packed full of secrets.     A rebel mouth testifying from the underside.     Careful not to let it     speak too loudly.     Only hum demure     in polite company — never laugh or spit on the sidewalk     or complain lest we both be dragged     under the wheels of one of those.     Or worse     coddled smiled at     as at a lapdog acting wolf. Or worse     called ugly     a cruel joke. Or — there are always     worse things. Too many messengers     shot.     But then who wouldn’t fear     an eyeless face whose ghost stories     always     come true?