Pins prick inside the drawer.
I bite my teeth into the wood.
The little sounds dance around
my jaw. I pull the metal runners forward.
Dust abates to a vinyl taste.
My lip catches a chemical taste.
I try to spit out the remaining taste.
I know I have swallowed a little more.
Slightly swaying inside the chest,
The pins tap the tissue paper.
My eyes strain, I watch my fingers,
A short breath, and I shut the door.