her womb is like a blanket
of small pox. so warm and subtly
contagious. her eggs are fertilized
with an expiration date.
marked with the purpose
of introducing bacteria, epidemic,
plague. roll up your tongue,
because the red carpet gets acned
with sores once her heels
have made contact.
she pulls a drag off
her cigarette, and turns
the other way. closes
her legs, pulls the make-up kit
out. the air is thick,
my eyes feel like jelly.
everything i see is a vector,
magnified a thousand times.
i can see my affliction
consuming me.
it’s gone, and i can’t feel
my fingers or toes.
everything i see is coated
with film, unfocused.
i want more.