when

WHEN

you tell me a story
like a morning glory
(a beautiful flower
with evil power)
the power to kill
make plants grow still
i listen breathless
characters deathless
time has halted
as you recount...
then stumble
a cough
a tumble
i breathe again
and life goes on
as before you started
and yet
there are marks on my hands
from my own fingernails
and my own bite-marks on my lips