Love, Do Not Try To Read Me

my pain is invisible, communicable
do not try reading with fingers-

black spider in my belly, weaving
elegies in my gut. my spit is death’s

vector—tiny missiles in
the mouth racing towards liver

like sperms to ovum. do not attempt
the salvation of kisses. cannot stop

my grief from spilling over
from causing a dent in your jaw. this poem

is full of teeth. will bite my fingers off
if I let it. must have poured my disease

into it unknowingly, my pain is communicable
tears into the ribs with shovels

Love, do not try to read me or touch me
without gloves. even

my sweat is poison…