Infected

You infect me with love

Seeping through my pores, my lips

Every available orifice it can find

Your love is making a home in my heart

It follows me through the day

Infiltrating my mind planting images

Of a life I could only once envision

And now I feel it within my reach

It's as close as your lips to my mouth

As close as your breath on my ears

Do I dare go for it and risk it all again

Or do I play it safe and always wonder

It's a rhetorical question at best

I already know the answer.

Dean Jéan-Pierre

11-2-05

10:04
 in the am

(there's a dangerously close line to fact/fiction when you're a writer. So much of what you do

is born of the imagination, and at best leaves the reader to wonder if what they read is true or

false. The greatest compliment you can pay a writer is when you can no longer tell where that

line begins and ends.)