Monday, June 17, 2013


How small in my hands,
now dangerously
and rounding out again. Excrement
soft on your soft belly.

I cleaned you, captivated,
for you were a little, lovely thing

like six ropes of clay
like an insect I drowned
in the dishwater-

sentient, terribly alive,
so delicately needing me
and fond of me
for no reason.

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