Bitter Residue

A sour rust clings below,

like copper coins left too long

in the pocket of my mouth.

Brushing teeth becomes a chore

against a smear that won’t lift—

a silent grit, stubborn, coarse.

Tonight it settled, uninvited,

a whisper of metal, a ghost

that tastes of old regrets,

and I wonder how many words

were lost in the grit beneath,

never spoken, just swallowed,

waiting there, silent and sharp.