Intravenous

A poem from deep within a six-year undiagnosed illness, now identified, healing.

 The tang in the back of my throat, a rushing gathering warmth

roof of mouth

swallow

pulling down into warmth

it doesn't feel like I've peed myself

thought they said it would

almost a burn a spreading across my groin

and the taste of

the taste of

the taste of

hollow echoing corridors

alcohol

saline

fresh rubberized plastic

nothing tastes like anything in here because…