Crickets are too swift for you,
Beardie-Love, so I’ll pinch
a plump mealworm, make it squirm,
brush your cheek with it
until you crunch it. Crunch.
Munch on shredded collards
spinning between my thumb
and index finger, tickled
under your chin. My digits
are too large to eat, Love,
your nose to tail fits
on my forearm. You may perch
in my hair while I scoop out
your sand, slice sweet carrots
for you, slice strawberries.
Munch. Flatten yourself
when I reach in until you
smell my skin, crawl up
and toward my neck. I’ll cradle
you in terry cloth, your nails
need trimmed. Soak in the tub
while I fetch fresh water, never
minding the wet nose at the door.

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