You come to me cautiously.

(I am reminded of the times I hover over a spot on my floor,
trying to discern thread-thin legs from undefined body—
seeing if you’re a dead insect, or only a ball of black lint)

Consider me. I interest you.

(I am reminded of the ways I study you, as though the treads
on your shoes could show me how you’ve walked, and the grit
that clung to you could tell the secrets of your roughness)

You come to me willingly.

(I am condemned only by those who refuse to understand. I did not
create your vulnerability; I only touched the exposed edges
of your composure, and stepped back to watch you disintegrate)

Contemplate me. I devour you.

(Infection leaves you so helpless that I am moved to your bedside.
Stroking your forehead, I came to the conclusion that I could inhabit
your body without fear of rejection. You opened up and let me in)

You come to me innocently.
Commemorate me. I absolve you.

12/08/2003

Author's Note: Topic: If I were AIDS, would you be my T-Cell Killer?

Posted on 12/09/2003
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