sarah says it's a wild beast

it's got fat limbs and teeth blood.
some nights you hear it howling,
taking its bath in the sand, rustling.
shortly after, it dies in bed, clean,
tormented by its unwashed sheets.

every morning or afternoon it returns.
by the way it bumbles inside you would think
it's a baby bird trying to find its way out of the dark,

untrained and orphaned overnight,
timidly clawing through the cotton.