manner of doing

I give you disease in black heels
in the following pre-paid manner

  first, I spot you at
         the supermarket taking
         a leak
         with my one good squinty eye

 second, I shuffle bow-leggedly into
         your field of vision

  third, I confuse you with my
         assymetrical hair and
         oven mit

 fourth, I whisper filthy truths wetly into
         your red left ear

  fifth, I permit my mit to brush
         your beefy three exposed back hairs
         (you emit unconscious peeps)

  sixth, I slide my crafty black hook-hand
         daintily into
         your nethers

seventh, as you stiffly sink to the tiles in
         slow inebriated monkey-thought, I
         begin to shrink and disappear, as
         all sights and sounds shrink and disappear, as
         all memory and action and bloated pig-time shrinks
         and disappears in a flush of dry water