Madame Needlemaw
prepares the pins
inside her jaw
and when she injects
her words inflect
and pirouette
upon my heart,
spiralling, spurning and spinning up
these feelings that I regret.
But yet,
her probing proboscis
remains my mistress
and my pin-cushion palms
reach out
for my next inoculation.
Pierced, punctured and prostrate
I wait
For her spiteful vaccination.
