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It was only a stolen kiss, / on the cheek, snaffled by darting in / over your shoulder, during registration, / while you talked to your friend,
It was only a stolen kiss,
on the cheek, snaffled by darting in
over your shoulder, during registration,
while you talked to your friend,
perpetrated in the knowledge
it wasn’t wanted,
and would disgust you; taken
in the full anticipation
of the hard punch on my BCG
that honour ruled
you must dish out, mark me diseased.
I had your liberal parents,
perhaps, to thank that this
was sufficient remedy for boy-kiss AIDS;
no need for a bloody beating by
the bins outside.
Why did I choose you?
Because you were handsome and tall,
but also secure as a boy
impossible to infect,
and seen that way by everyone.
I was putting only my
own heart on
the floor, wanting it stepped on, but
if things had gone wrong
enough to sicken you,
it could have numbed parts of you forever,
so, sorry.
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