sick poetry

[phewfighter]

some light-to-medium threat level bug is keeping me up and stockpiled on wadded-up germ-warfare ammunition. naturally, my mind strays to poetry. here are two versions of my crummy mood and restless mind, and the voting's now open as to the less-atrocious one.

EDIT: having somehow slept a few meager hours, i awoke feeling quite a bit less worse for wear and, deciding i would likely not fell all at work with the mighty thunder of an infectuous cough, got progressively better through a hot shower. so better, in fact, i unintentionally started singing one version when trying to recall the mad poetry my feverish mind snorked up in its delirium. giving myself a chuckle and improving my mood by a lot, it was an alternatingly miserable, plaintive and jovial song, just-shy of channeling some wizened delta bluesman. stevie ray vaughn-ish, you might say. which should give you a good idea which version i apparently prefer.

the flu blues
-------------

i need your body, right now,
wrapped tightly around me:
limp limbs, achey joints,
runny nose, itchy eyes.

i need your soft words, right now,
pour them down my clogged earholes,
your warm voice to heal me,
sweet medicine prescribed.

i need your kisses, right now,
your lips on my shoulder,
one hand strokes my chest,
and one between my thighs.

i need your body, my love,
but used tissues disgust you,
the now-cold tea you left me
will just have to suffice.

the flu blues, too
------------------

i need your body, right now,
naked, wrapped all around me,
your warmth for my cold limbs,
runny nose, itchy eyes.

i need your soft words, right now
sliding down my clogged earholes,
your voice my sweet medicine,
no pills will suffice.

i need your kisses, right now,
at my neck, my tight shoulders,
hands stroking my chest
through each wet wheezing rise.

i need your body to cure me,
not "get off me" and pity.
all i ask is your love
and please, please spread your thighs.