if
only
they all were nuzzles
on the neck,
sweet
nothings
at the lobe and ridge—
that
none
were the black tar kind/unkind
to
speaker
and
hearer both—
like virus
from the vector’s
mouth
if
only
the cure could spread
as fast as the
disease.
up to you and me?
© 2014 Jennifer
Wagner
for dVerse OLN