(no subject)

[claire_writes]

A momentary brush past you
and you stick to me
like porcupines of the bush.
I am so covered in you
I look down at my skirt
and see a new species of fur,
laced and strewn in thorns
easy as spaghetti and
fierce as a fresh knife-
I spend hours picking you
out of the frill of my fabric,
like a job technology
has still not figured out the
answer to-
and later after alll
the visible balls of you
rolled up smugly in me
are gone and I am pleased
and relieved-
I still feel your cool teeth
whispering tiny scratches
against the roofs of
my sunny ankles.