The Disease

I feel it on my ankles, where they crossed yours.   It’s on my stomach, on my arms in my sleep.   It’s in my mind, in my bed red, white and violent against me.   It crawls over my body I feel it swell.   My skin creeps, it flakes away the dried and crusting tissues.   My genitals are red and inflamed my thoughts and mind also.   Where our fingers intertwined it lives and breeds.   I am the disease defatted by time and corruption.   Kiss me before you go I need more. Robert Kennedy	Angelo Madrid