herpes

was the name of Chet and Billie's cat. he was orange and yellow, like the sore without the pus. i think Chet had the ooze on his cock and so kitty got honored with the diagnosis. Kelly had it on her lip, upper right. in her yearbook picture she did the one-finger rescue, just so. her classmates duplicated the gesture in support. 10's of pretty girls with cocked head and forefinger on the upper right smiley lip just so. we always knew who her boyfriends were because they all had the same burnt bacon scab in same spot. an Irish girl at work had it so bad her entire mouth was Cajun blackened. it was grotesque. i have one, mid-upper. it cracks open at gigs and bleeds a trickle when i hit the mike in an extravagant emotional moment. the thing is, herpes ain't AIDS so we kinda laugh it off, but still i wonder about the origins, the ontology. who gives it to us? was it a deep french kiss in Prague? foul drinking water from an over-shared bottle? a nefarious coke addled blow job? it ID's you, Herpes, as if to indicate and tag an overactive, dirty sex life (if there is such a thing). who wouldn't want that, the scab badge of courage? at some point Lysine eradicates the symptoms. an occasional thumper pulsing on my upper lip reminds me of an old friend, but he never materializes. he is a he, isn't he? a particularly man-triggered flag. what would constitute a female STD? warts? warts down there? i dunno. thank god i don't 'show' any longer.