he wakes so angry her claws (k)needing him tiny blades; poking, prodding, piercing skin. he forgets so easily she, too, was left for dead; orphaned, rescued, homed soul. she grips life now with you, only one before she must nest, instead, in dirt.
{if she wakes you again
I will open the door for
you.}
…
Hokis | Poetry 