You linger on my breath,
biting at my tongue.

Before I speak,
words spill from my lips,
dripping down my chin.
Sentences tangle with saliva,
like loose threads at your feet.
I leave them to slither
down the indentations in the floor,
cracks in the wood symmetrical
to the lines you drew on their bodies
with your careful fingertips,
gathering like dead skin
under your nails.