The dark dance calls softly,
like Night Shade or Oleander.
Just a little taste...
Just one more slow waltz...
I can smell her
wet orchid while I sleep.
She moves languidly through
my dreams, possesses me at dawn
with lambent steps.
The love is violent, like a bullfight.
It's sweet and treacherous, ferocious.
Fatal for one of us;
and she's been gored.

My tongue is strung
On the headlines
A virus sprung
Across coastlines

From China wall
To the earth's span
The bouncing ball
Of bad cells fan

One dug a path
At humankind's
Causing a wrath
Of quarantines

This turn of fate
I pray comes straight

Logan Robertson

3/21/20

I look out and wonder,
Where is It?
Am I in the crosshairs.
(Breathe)
Where is my assassin?
Is it my beach dwelling, Corona guzzling, party-boy nephew,
Or,
A glad-handing, back-slapping, hissy-kissy friend,
To bring about the end.