N.B. You will fall in love, somehow, with something, and this thing will thread through your veins, it will stick in your gums. Hard as you try, the things you love may never leave you as you were. This is what I call, an incurable wound.
You must be stuck in my lungs somehow,
The choking is spreading, massacres.
You are the wound shrinking my heart to stone.
I am the embers of these kisses,
Words whispering on the curve of the writhing cell,
Coughing the endearments to your lips.
You are the wound,
You are cancer in my tongue,
Rabies in my eyes.
You are the host and the disease, you are homing me,
You are stitching into me, unravelling me,
The temperature uncoiling me.
You are that illness that never went away.