Thallium

If I held out the candle, paraffin burning for him,

then swallowed all the light, if

in the dark, I was a cobra’s tongue,

how could it have been his fault?

me at the door in nothing

but welcome.

Over wine, I warned him

soft—you can’t sleep here; you won’t

wake up.

In the snuffed room, my touch serrated

bit of tooth

or switchblade.

Even a peacock feather comes to a point.

He thought

I was kissing him.