When we converse
all I can think is
escape.
Does the panic show
in a white-rimmed eye,
if you bothered
to look?
I can feel your words,
smooth, sweet, dangerous
sliding down my back.
I am wary, ungrateful,
as I silently begin
chewing off my foot.
Domestication
does not suit me.
For PAD and NaPoWriMo, Day 16
