Jaw Work

That wet slap—tongue against teeth—

a rhythm pounding underneath

my nerves, a relentless tide that drags

through every pause, each word sags.

Crunch echoes, sharp and unrelenting,

a chewing that won’t stop inventing

its presence in the empty room,

a muffled thunder, a constant boom.

I try to speak, but all I hear

is jaw's assault, so close, so near.

The story fades, the sound remains,

a chewing drum that strains my veins.