Saliva

When I saw the boy for the first time, I tripped so sharply that my organs lost their place. My heart took the place of my head, pumping constantly.
I told it to stop, but it wouldn't.
My head took the place of my stomach, digesting only thoughts of him.
I told it to stop, but it wouldn't.

I was dying.

The one who shook me up would be the one save me.
I needed a transfusion and I stole a kiss to get it.
A bite of the lip and the lifeblood pulsed from him to me.

But with the blood came a bug –
An illness of obsession, unshakable disease.
The sickness of needing to tell him how he made me feel.
I tried to make it stop, but I couldn’t.

I frothed at the mouth with words I had to say to him.
The sentences dripped and rolled down my chin.
Subject and predicate saliva.
He wiped my mouth with his sheet music, barely noticing.
I continued to foam as he played on and on, my requiem.

I tried to wash my face in the Raritan River,
Hoping its currents would carry away my illness.
But the current was not strong enough.
I stayed silently by his piano bench,
My chin nestled on his thigh as if I were a dog
I stained him with my drooling sentences
Maybe he would stop playing and notice?

I told the summer not to end
But the fall winds chopped at the season
The summer, the boy, my stomach and heart, we were all alike
We did not know how to obey