cool mint By Courtney WZ your fist wrings the tube, choking the plastic until it coughs up paste of gelid blue. your arm lurches like a fiddler, veins erupting, brushing back and forth so fiercely my wince is instinct. I smother my bristles, shove the brush into my throat and almost choke from the mint’s hit. I prick at my bloated gums, drool pooling in my cheek pockets as froth drips down my chin. at opposing sides of a vanity, my spew splatters the left basin but you spit harder, always in the right. your foot flicks at the door like at a pest on a shoe. eyes needling into mine, you leave the foam bubbles to pop like pimples in the sink. I count the tiles past our bed room. your body has already fallen onto the double bed with the single pillow. again.
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