I was asked to write about the state of your mouth.
(and by asked, I mean, compelled)
asked compelled to write about the state of your mouth and the adjectives that arrive are: earth-bound, orchestral, hungry, polite, southern, like a pastry.
I was compelled to write about the state of your mouth as though it is a kingdom. A nation of skin and exhales. A confederation of spit and jaws.
I was compelled to write about the state of your mouth as though it contained rivers, bicoastal oceans, twelve reservoirs and a creek to wade in.
Your mouth is a compilation of love letters.
Your mouth is a completed volume of encyclopedias, the kind delivered to one’s door and full of illuminating photographs and unchartered territories.
Your mouth is an unlocked secret.
Your mouth is a mailbox, delivering care packages full of rice crispy treats and home-baked cookies and licorice and books and black ink pens and decoder rings.
I was compelled.
I was enthralled.
I was deliberate.
When I signed up (without end date) to study the correspondence, the choreography of the movement of you.