deepundergroundpoetry.com

Teeth

The fellow was in his fifties. And like a child he was.
He laughed and beamed. His silver whiskers trembled.
The lines on his face crinkled. Like an old shirt.
Like his favourite burrito. His joy was immense.

Nothing in the world could stop. His face was unbeatable.
Ear to ear was a distance hurdled. He was gold medallist.
No muscle wore out. No sweat at all.
No teeth got in the way. Of his winning smile.




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Internet's being wonky! I hope this one makes it!!!
Written by absinthe (Fats)
Published
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