Healer

I feel it in my throat and nose; a dry hate
In my coughs and sniffles and spit into a bowl of oranges, your tangerines have no place in my sky
Your lense was always too innocent; you have the lashes of a child
Staring at me, confused, as I administer the tests and the shots
I’ve never liked kids.
I think I hate you, when you smile I choke, when you kiss I cry
You breath I retch, I hate everyone you touch, so much, so much
You were shaking when you told me you would do anything for me and
I was held in that moment by your eyes, almost angry
Taken back to the moment of vaccination
I’m still trying to get a reaction.
I get tangled in the sidewalks I avoid and I bathe in the light of lampposts in other towns
I have affairs with my parasites;
It’s a different kind of whoring than yours.
You’ve kissed twelve people and I’ve loved two
And no one can see you the way I do.