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You are droplets in the air.

They tell us you dissolve after thirty minutes,

Two hours, half a day.

All you want is to live, like we do.


Invisible, terrifying, 

They tell us you live on surfaces.

I scrub my groceries, scrub the

counter, wash the bags, my hands,

scrub the counter again.


They tell us – you do not live on surfaces.

No more scrubbed groceries 

(or maybe I just tired of it).

They tell us, floating, sticking or not sticking,

you always produce a fever – 

except when you don’t.


Is this enjoyable to you?

Is this a game?

Is this simply you, living?

Sometimes I long to ask you,

to know you, to understand.


I thought lavender soap would be soothing.

I used it at my most terrified

when you roared through the streets,

eating everything in your way.

You leave no scent. 

The smell of lavender sticks to my fingers,

Hangs in my bathroom,

They say lavender soothes.


Do you want to live forever?

Doesn’t everyone?

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