knuckles.

her long long hair keeps getting in the way
as she brushes her teeth.
salt mixes with blood mixes with water
and paste
all devoured in her mouth,
pressed against her tounge
until she is ready to pull it out.
but she allows it all to sit for a while,
beneath her gums
waiting for some trial to begin or maybe some explosion.

"well, i'm just waiting for someone to come and sweep me off my feet", she says in some muffled gleam.
"well, aren't we all just waiting for that same destiny?" , the other asked sneering.
"yes, but you see, it's going to happen to me", she said in a total state of indifference.

later on that day, she noticed a small cut on her lip.
the proof was there but the motive was not.
she stared at her knuckles for too long
and realized that blood was the first sign
of failure.
but i don't think she was looking for success.