Clench

It's merely a game of discretion.

Grip the razored edge too tightly,

and if it is torn away the wound may weep

unsutured for weeks;

grasp it too loosely,

and it may simply slip from between the fingers.

It's a leaden plumb dangling behind my navel;

a frayed fishing wire trailing along the smooth lines

sketched on the back of my throat,

knotted to each syllable that slips through your teeth --

those beautiful f*****g teeth --

either increasing or easing the weight

between my bottom-most ribs.