© Marie Marshall
Don’t you think poetry is just so totes amazebuckets? [evil grin]
I like to think I know you better than to believe you’ve let a typo creep in – and left the “L” out of “sta(L)ked”. Either way, this is disturbing; yet, it has its heart warming moments. And no, that “A” in warming was not supposed to be an “O”.
No. Deliberately ‘staked’. I’d have taken heartworming.
I want this on a postcard. Heartworming sounds like the title of a novel you’d write.
Feel free to print it out under my name. It’ll be slow through the mail, as operatives look at it, trying to figure out what’s going on.
I’ll add Heartworming to the list of WIP.
Hi! It’s me. You know, a staker of yours. (sinister laugh)
Sharpen that wit, ripen that clove,
it’s the slip-shadow follower,
the bone-baker, bone-breaker,
shadow-slick, shady nightlover,
random, corner crow-hopper,
with her tappity stick (clink-clank);
she’s on her secret way, I feel
her breath, the heat of her eyes,
the mockery (ha-ha!) mickeytake
of a smile in moon-slick night;
she’s there when I take my leave,
click my key, lock my deadbolt,
shoot home my chain, breathe,
relieve, believe I’m safe –
but she chafes my dreams
as well as my waking,
I find this fascinating.
“curdling dreams and nursing hatred” like a recipe for
outnightmaring a nightmare and then a stake after a job well done.
Fries with that stake?
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