Winter 2019: Viral

My lips, cracked open like doorways to richer gatherings, emit light fluid  
as two sunken eyes, peering onto a backlit screen, are hidden amongst  
a raw nose, eardrums beating beneath water, temples in need of a drain.
I hate the flu.  
Kids are so damn infectious, I say, as mine avoids it while I have it -  
thanks to a nasal spray this season.  
I just want to sleep, believe me,  
I tried before I came here.  
It swallowed me whole, turning and turning again within a burrow of blockage,  
everything aching even blackness not leading to relief.  
Here, in a web of quiet and words and clarity  
it's easier to reflect on what an irritable grouch I am  
and how I wouldn't suffer this level of groaning  
if I didn't have to.