touch.

so cold it's hot.

longing.

a cat who almost       jumps     in the tub but hesitates and instead lets his
paw
skim the water.

tightrope hopes.

guilessly:   i find your beauty agonizing.

sickem boy red tick, brindle that's my *****
**** dog, have a scratch when cat get an itch
born and bread parvo bigger by the litter
bitten by the sister to hit a lick blood bitter

feline forgot the fox, canine forgot the socks
cat crawls up walls and stalks down rocks
dogs calling out saying that cat's all claws
dogs can't talk after being walked into jaws

if cat's i give a ****, dog ear will take a ****
you bury a bone just to re-awaken it
when i play it's real, brown nose is fakin it
he likes to roll in ****, i leap away from it

dog will is human and a cat's will is stronger
cat summer is for hunters, dog years are longer
nine lives feels like yours with eight more
come on dog why we need all the hate for? hissssssss

This family I have all began with a girl named Bella, she was more than adorable. Loyal and loving she was one of a kind. She never ran off until one day she never came home, my heart broke as I searched near and far, not only taken from me but 5 babies left behind.  I was trying to find these babies a loving home but attached from day one I kept them for my own. Oh my the destruction they caused, 3 girls and 2 boys, Heaven, Sadie, Sky, Junior and Buster along with my shitzu,  Zoey. Never a dull moment as each one special in there own way. Little did I know the place where we lived the ground they played upon made every one of them poisoned by parvo and deathly sick. My Fience and I worked round the clock administering medication and fluids to 6 very sick puppies. Our battle seemed to never end as death filled our home and we lost one. Exhausted and drained as i laid beside our remaining babies, death sunken eyes peered up at me from each and every one as if asking me "momma please save us for what have we done"  I burst into tears as I gathered them all near, laying my hands upon there tired bodies I closed my eyes and began to Pray, God please heal my babies make them better through my hands, I know you can work miracles so I'm begging of you to spare the life of my babies I pray unto you . As silence filled my home covered with doom, my body grew numb , I knew God was here. I began praying harder never lifting my hands as the heat from my hands became even hotter I couldn't remove them from their bodies. Chills ran through me like I've never felt before, releasing my hands as I looked in their eyes , the death that once consumed them appeared to go away. Within a matter of hours one by one they began to get well. I dropped to my knees and gave God his Grace for saving my babies that day. Every word I've said in this poem is 100% true, A wonderful testimony of how love , faith and God healed my furbabies that day.

©kimmied1105

La vida mágica se vive entera
en la mano viril que gesticula
al evocar el seno o la cadera,
como la mano de la Trinidad
teológicamente se atribula
si el Mundo parvo, que en tres dedos toma,
se le escapa cual un globo de goma.
Idolatremos todo padecer,
gozando en la mirífica mujer.
Idolatría
de la expansiva y rútila garganta,
esponjado liceo
en que una curva eterna se suplanta
y en que se instruye el ruiseñor de Alfeo.
Idolatría
de los dos pies lunares y solares
que lunáticos fingen el creciente
en la mezquita azul de los Omares,
y cuando van de oro son un baño
para la Tierra, y son preclaramente
los dos solsticios de un único año.
Idolatría
de la grácil rodilla que soporta,
a través de los siglos de los siglos,
nuestra cabeza en la jornada corta.
Idolatría
de las arcas, que son
y fueron y serán horcas caudinas
bajo las cuales rinde el corazón
su diadema de idólatras espinas.
Idolatría
de los bustos eróticos y místicos
y los netos perfiles cabalísticos.
Idolatría
de la bizarra y música cintura,
guirnalda que en abril se transfigura,
que sirve de medida
a los más filarmónicos afanes,
y que asedian los raucos gavilanes
de nuestra juventud embravecida.
Idolatría
del peso femenino, cesta ufana
que levantamos entre los rosales
por encima de la primera cena,
en la columna de nuestros felices
brazos sacramentales.
Que siempre nuestra noche y nuestro día
clamen: ¡Idolatría! ¡Idolatría!