Teeth

I am so happy with the color of your teeth
Although I’ll never touch them I can admire the architecture
And I too appreciate God’s hand in the placement of each
Napping gently as friends, together, to watch your throat sleep
I will never have a look up there
In the corridor to the head in which you cease to think of me
With a doorbell not meant to be rung
Not by this tongue
And I observe each day as Fall creases and folds
That you have grown to this woman so protective of the white skin she holds
My guess that you smell like cold cotton comes true
The gums on your jaw bent like ivory horseshoes
That I would love to throw around