Words

I kept words in my pocket
shoved down my shirt and
packed under my fingernails.

I collected them, protected them,
placed them in small white envelopes
to keep them clean -- except
for the dirty ones; those I slid
under the elastic of panties
or into my shoes to bounce
around with the gravel, dirt
and tiny stones.

But now I hide words in my mouth.
I like the taste of them. And if
I open my lips a tiny crack,
they can peek out, see the world a little.
(After all, I'm not that selfish).

I am selfish.
Now I will not even rinse with mouthwash.
I want to keep the words to myself,
my own cultured bacteria. Want to enjoy
the feel of them hugging my gums,
rolling from side to side
as they bounce off my teeth,
click against enamel, tickle
my tongue as they try to escape.