sick day
burning with fever
burning with lust
sweat drips
sizzling on molten sheets
ghost spiders crawl corridors of wet skin
raising gooseflesh and memories of rusty lips
dragged to the cul-de-sac where desire
waits for the next bus to oblivion
i squirm to find a cool spot on this tattered altar
as your voice climbs over the hill
whispering you’re going to like me
as your laugh wraps me
in the silence of bureaucracy