Mouth

by Erica Goss

What desires us most
enters through the mouth:
consider breath, with its
vital repetitions; and if

the esophagus is the top
of a volcano that explains
the ash clinging like
spittle to my lips — but

what of blood in the throat
the bitten tongue — how
the skull erupts
from flesh in neat rows

as if to say, don’t forget
I’m in here, I define
what it means
to be human.