TEETH

I have no real teeth left
Save a facsimile smile of
Tinctured planes surrounded
By unsure enamel walls.

Surfaces propped up by God
Knows what, and sustained by
Matter unknown to even the
Most polished drill enthusiast.

Some are true and some are
False and some don’t even
Qualify as either once noticed
In-between satin gaps,

And still others are hinged with
A pin pricks desire to inflame,
Given the right temperature,
Or incongruous bone fragment.

Unlike hair turned grey
Overnight or eyes shot with
Blood’s fast acting retribution,
They have decayed quite gracefully,

But all are in need of a
Kindred display to encourage
Their constant rebuilding,
And keep wealthy fairies at bay.