Tom Hatch: Mistletoe

Turning the corner on a late fall day
The leafless trees were full of it fifty sixty clumps
A head each one so beautiful I could not be missed
To be kissed by the beauties under it's
poisonous bright greenness
Could be death could be love
In bouquets the size and shape of medusa's snaking head
Charmed in reflection of beheading their mass
An unwanted guest from her host cell (the tree)
yet waiting for a little kiss below the parasite
Eventually killing its host as all love does
Mistletoe is so misunderstood a kiss is not love
But if you ate some it kills imitating love all the same

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