They would come and go
in furry gangs,
step close to my bed,
look up with gleaming eyes,
waiting,
their whiskers caressing my palms.
They would step on soft paws,
days in, nights out,
cutely walking all over my stuff,
around
my world of ghastly solitude,
tabby beauties, black-and-whites, gingers
of all breeds an size.
And I’d step out of that room,
under the cold jellical moon
into the outside where
we’d search for the Heavyside layer.
©2024, soulmary
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