Innocent
The scratch mark that your touch made on my lung
Beside the ventricle that beat against
That careless trace of fingertips—it stung
My breath. That caress, casually dispensed,
Was Cupid’s golden arrow, venom-tipped,
That lighly brushed my larynx, stunned my throat,
And paralyzed my mouth, left it mute-lipped
As Innocent pronouncing that dumb note
Of purple caped, enthroned hysteria.
I could have taken doxycycline for
The heart, a drug course for malaria
Of souls, if I’d known the threat to my core.
Just think what you could have done with a kiss.
My throat would have emitted a wild hiss.
