I feel it coming
And its like a spindly-legged bug,
crawling toward my love.
Down my neck I feel it tickle,
On my breast it rests,
scurrying,hairy little legs,
Past my tummy and so much more.
My little bug,
I caught on the window,
And let it on my finger.
It eats of my essence,
and drowns in my existance,
a spindly-legged bug,
Creeping toward my love.
© Copyright 2016 Chrysta. All rights reserved.
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