Turn taking poem making

At Rob's house last week he, Phoebe and I wrote some poems where you each write a word and then pass it on. This was my favourite:

A tooth broke free. Loose hairs
drifted down-town. The only
sound was trickling drains.
Two of use escaped from
light work, strolling through
glistening pathways. We
whistled through daylight
riddled melodies and
clapped out sound. Biting
lips showed almost as white
as cold hands in snowy
places. Before, when
you approached, from my
warmer side of course, I did not
resist.