Emergency Warning

You are one of those people, it is
clear, who needs help. I think you
should stop speaking in a low attractive
voice whenever you call. Stop
making me think of velvet and
fragrant tobacco and that first sip
of bourbon. Stop inciting
stirrings, movements between us
little rebellions, causing chaos in all
of my darker places. The top half of
my body is at gross political warfare
with the lower. One part of me is
roaring and the other wholly
disapproves. You are a beautiful
danger. Do not force me to
open up. Some books are bound
tightly for years for reasons. Some
books are burned for their own
good, Love. Stop wearing clothes the
way that you do. Don’t allow them to
cling to your body like that. Do not
follow these effortless fashions where
everything looks just so, because,
really…who could resist
such a thing? The Lord knows you
are beautiful and unfair. I think perhaps
you should spare a thought, dear, for
those who are sick over you, burning up
with you, damp for you. You know what
you do. You’re a slow fever. Don’t be so
very engaging, amusing or witty or bright.
You are causing confusion and jams in
tight spaces. You are an accident in
waiting. The type of accident with
casualties spanning from me to you and
here to there, a potential tragedy, a
stunning unborn disaster. Should I touch
you, I will suffer and you will suffer and
she will suffer. You are a danger zone. I
must not enter. I should not enter.
But I might.