A Love Letter to the Virus
Hannah Tilt
Oh clasp me in your callous arms and sing,
Of worlds where you and I may wrap our pain,
As though a gift of sight to everything,
And not the soiled sheets we two have lain.
You clutch me as I fight to find a thought,
Or whisper spiteful tricks about my mind,
We always watch the bullet birds we sought,
I stand here like a hatchling left behind.
My murderer, my drug, my all I plead,
Oh love me – I shall fly and I shall race,
Believe me when I talk of love and bleed,
How I adore the patterns that we trace,
So lull me with your steady, biting fear,
And keep me close for always: keep me near.