i keep his teeth in a jar that sits on the coffee table
that way he can only talk with tongue and gum
a small corked lid used to hold flowers in glass
the whiskey ghost has rustled teeth and leaves
a grainy nostalgic vision from a bad print is being projected
onto a bed sheet on the brick wall of him and her
the mouths move but more is feigned from body movement
the whiskey ghost mumbles something close to the ear
the words touch my hair and graze my ear yet
i can only smell the foul breath from its mouth