Bit it again hard this time

Bit it again, hard this time,

on a piece of toast, or maybe thought.

That quick, bright shock, a little crime

against myself, dearly bought.

It's a strange thing, this muscle, wet and pink,

that holds all words, or holds them back.

Too big sometimes, I start to think,

pushed against my teeth, off track.

It tastes the air, the bitter, sweet,

and sits there, always, slick and quick.

Ready to form a small defeat,

or just to feel the sudden prick.