Untitled poem, from a prompt

[sarahmichigan]

Has she got your tongue?
Yes, and my small gray heart
Batting it around, toying with it.

Is she raining down on you,
Dogging your every step,
Padding along in her pajamas?

Yes, and she’s got her
Little hands in everything,
She’s even rocking the baby to sleep.

She’s sparring with the puppy,
Rolling another marble toward the pot,
Whispering vicious gossip in neighbors’ ears

When she isn’t burgling their houses.
She’s straying all over town,
Getting mad when caught in a downpour.

She’ll only stop when she’s gutted,
Or napping, caught up in a feverish dream,
Or crossing your path with her black shadow.

Comments

[m0n90053.livejournal.com]

This is outrageously good.

I can't believe nobody else said anything about it.

At all & at all.