She opened her mouth and kept opening
Until everything was in cavernous, spitty dark
The world over beneath her thrumming uvula
The great oceans and lakes, spit, continents
Between pinkish tonsils.
You say you’re having eye trouble
I pull them out for you, and it’s true:
They’re dusty, faded; the lights have gone out
The clockwork motors in their little anuses stiff
From lack of use. I spit, polish, and wind
I set them through the wind’s tubes
Flashing, they roll their way back to your suppliant sockets
The ones above.
Every night I look at you looking
At me. Long after I’ve forgotten this story,
It’s all I need to find my way back.