I have two sets of toothbrush.
One is blue
The other is pink.

"Brush your teeth every after meal" said the toothpaste. 

I eat thrice a day.

I use the blue one when I take a bath in the morning. 

I use the pink in the evening before going to bed.


"I can suck your cock,

but I don't kiss customers"

said the prostitute on the corner. 

Coitus is just a candid routine.

Kissing is for the special someone.


When the cash is handed

and trousers pulled down

does passion kick in?

Or it's just a routinary pounding

and the biological pleasure after

as a function of nerves being tickled,

which makes the seemingly heartless foray bearable. 


You brush your teeth everyday
like a harlot spreading her thighs to the dirty cheating husband. 


Why don't your try suspending your disbelief
the next time you put that stick in?

Let the taste of baking soda and peroxide
burns sweetly in your tongue.

Make out with the ashes of bubbles
in a mouthwatering foamy stratosphere. 

Surrender yourself to the motion
and succumb to the binge

then suddenly,

the war against cavities becomes a moment of bliss,

only if you sign the armistice.


Is there a word for the gag
when the tip is esophagus-deep?

When the residues of the junk
you stuff yourself with on New Year's eve

elopes with the minty froth?

When all the catastrophe you're tasting
is being freed by water

but some of it you gulp inside?

There are no words. 

Only doings.

There are no words. 

Only feelings.


I have two sets of toothbrush.

One is blue

The other is pink.