The Virus

I clamber across your face
in search of weakness --
a scar, a dimple,
the perfect place to kiss
and inject myself
beneath your tender skin.

There, my blueprints unravel
to become your instructions,
recasting your nature
to mirror mine.

I asborb you, 
cell by cell,
from the inside out,
turning you 
into me
so I am not alone.

But you always find a cure.

The antidote comes
from the deepest part of you,
hardening your skin
into stone,
casting me off
to search for another host,
another victim.

Scott Speck
01/26/2001