You’re always dragging on me--
got your sticky icky leavings all
pver the place,
any place most inconvenient.
Always kind of spooky, nervous
but defiant too, back up
step out, get nose to nose
as if to say you’re here for good.
I know it’s you, at night, tasting
my eyes, making me wiggle
and a little itchy
squirmy but never squished, somehow…
One day there’s one of you,
lurking in a corner, the next, a window,
under floorboards, cupboards, skittering
all over my floor and ceilings
and in my clothes so when I undress
there you are, sitting like a star
right on my breast. Okay. I needed that.
To scream. Whack at something
so terribly invasive, biting,
so terribly unobtrusive, until
you leave your icky sticky leavings
as bumps all over me. When
were you walking over me, in the dark
while I dreamed, taking over
saying I’m a leaving little spider left.