Borrowed Mouth

The dictionary says I’m just lonely,

but that word is a shallow, plastic bowl.

I found a different one tonight, full of consonants,

meant for the specific way the oxygen leaves

when a room is too full of happy people.

It feels like wearing wet wool against my ribs.

I smudge a thumbprint into the dust on the glass,

looking for a way to admit I am here

without actually having to open my mouth.