Veins Beneath

Brushing my teeth,

a dull Sunday morning ritual,

I tipped my head back, stuck out my tongue

and really looked.

Underneath, not the usual pink,

but a landscape of blue.

Fine, delicate veins crisscrossing,

like a roadmap of some secret country.

A small, damp, intimate map

I rarely see. A part of me

that feels too vulnerable, too soft,

to be so close to speech, to taste.