Stir
MARTA WOLNY
The dial woke her: Warmth did it. Enclosed by a palm temperature can be held now. Don’t you love the valve? Docile, stick out, burying degrees from minutes ago. Tumbling tongue of some k-9 slobbering inside himself reanimating sleeping legs, lapping of the radiator: That keen pup made her shiver and bat each wing, the lamp, the wall, the ceiling are asked which way is out. I would have shown her though the signs stayed sleeping, like my left leg, beneath my right. Ladybird, you weren’t meant to sleep in student accommodation. I can’t give you those shelves, nor the vodka-breaths. Through the window— It refuses to yawn with me, parting its mouth according to budge while that hot hound moves louder, warming my knees, and you, you are made restive.
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