If

If I were biting my lip,
and if you were watching me,
as though some voyeur
across the table
where you’d sit
drinking your coffee,
could I bite so hard
that I’d make it bleed?
And would I then look
like a vampire,
with hungry eyes, staring,
with contempt for you,
or for your need of caffeine,
or for your need of me,
that as I dabbed at the corner
how I’d mercifully think,
how I’d like to put you out
of your misery.

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