User Review( votes)
written by: Katy Santiff
You asked me for all my monsters more.
They don't spawn somnolent haunting words.
You see, they have no mouths to speak, or feed.
My muted pets tarry, starved and weary,
scouring their black pens like chicks for seed.
I can't always be the release they need,
but hen over them sometimes, holding each
in my lap, laying each down on its back,
massaging concave chests and limpid wings,
rubbing pinfeathers to relieve prickling,
while around me/mecca their siblings swing.
Be soothed, my fiends. When behemoths call--
we'll drag claws across your chins, give you jaws.