I knew she was corruptible

Her hair
had the property of maize
just before
the male flowering
when the pollen shed begins

I watched
her index finger
as she
drew
a convex tetrahedron
in the dextrose
she had spilt
on the wretched palate
of her desktop
I knew she was corruptible
I just didn't know
how

After she had gone home
that evening
I sat in her
leatherette
office chair
and saw
two tiny
droplet chords
of blood
in the hinterland
of her
oversized
blotter

I leant down
and touched them
with my tongue
one tasted of poison
the other of rapture

It was just after winter evensong
the streets were muffle white
and empty
and no one
could hear me scream