Twosome

My doting couplet, you resemble
a pair of hypodermic syringe

One filled with poison;
the other, panacea.

I was sinking into your soft
seabed; You fondly endured

weight of bones, muscle-bricks;
I kept wondering how honeyed

can a pair of lips be. You calmed
my hair, wiped the forehead

and muttered, "Inject the venom.
Kill the poet now."