Virus Poem by David Watts

Virus

The sun is a fried egg.
The wind has a door in it
I walk through.

In the dark below my molecules
there is a vibration
that makes no sound.

And the earth under my feet
is held together
by silence.

The doctor smiled an archaic smile
which means I will spend 2015
getting over 14.

Mother spent a lot of time,
I now remember, in bed.Maybe her gene
bewitches me.

My body so careful it stops
at railroads.
The flesh engaged, the spirit darting.

Now even love is filled with such longing
it hums in the night
as I rise to the promise of your touch.