One Tooth

It does not bother me that I have one tooth, that sits orangy-yellow, protruding from my fish lips. It is right I cannot see past my erecting sculpture, my eluding pleasure, seeking an erudite treasure a constant measure of my stiffness.
My label sprung stiff on my back, this slick skin, oily and in constant secretion. Leaving a trace like smoke exhales making circles is this dense undercurrent, where it trails off too I don’t know.
My shinny coated patterns aloof in the sightless waters, sometimes I cannot even see my self, unless I’m with others of my kind, others of my time, others of the same sign.
Like timid bloated Saturns, I circle the constant play of the obscure. The core vibrates beneath and I round its synergy.
Most often though my stealth brings no produce, I’m given light, an enemy at these times.
These Stars dispense some pernicious veins through the un-visible night destroying most of my feeding attempts, with their luminous rains - they give sight to the constant blind and create sparkles of grease which exudes from my scaled surface. This makes my work that much harder.
If only to relax, un-stiffen to be at malleable play, then I could lay amongst the Orchikes, where a constant many come to and run to when I approach. There they circle themselves within the sponge like bubbles and laugh at their reflections on its mirror like tentacles. It sits and grows on the side of the rigid rocks, volcanic flames turned into this ocean’s deep, these Orckikes camouflage the once beautyless calcium build ups and sprawl loosely throughout and within their own made up landscape. They’ve given it beauty, they’ve given us all beauty, even I, who if to get too close, invites a death of horrible grim, but I wonder would it be such a sin, to forever bath in the hem of its love.
There would be ample plaudits from above, this I’m sure of. For many would want nothing more then the death of another One Tooth whore.