Implanting Teeth

Counting the days till the date

you plan to implant teeth，

the days we stop talking,

I finally land on the ground, as a shattered gum,

waiting everything to loose.

Country boundaries, abortion laws,

epidemic prevention policies, airlines…

My faith.

My faith, a wild thorn, having borne too much.

Too much regret. Too much bravery.

Too many splinters of your old broken bone.

Not the shape of seeds, l mean, zygotes,

but only gravels, debris

of your bad devouring habits.

What will you plant? A sweet hope

with sharp corners? A placid life

with the taste of my mute?

Anyway, my God has sent me

with my mouths shut,

but I would not be found innocent.

And l would not be hurt if l could

love after the second death.

In some way, l could love your wife.

A strange but instinctive love.

It’s much easier to love a woman

brooding on your pure white teeth,

like lilies sleeping in a young valley,

encircling the browsing of your past life.