having a soft small pet is like, you are so vulnerable, you are biting me, I am responsible for your fragile life in almost every way, your knife hands are in my stomach, I love you more than anything, stop eating plastic you heathen, I cannot save you from the slow march of age or explain to you the divergence of our life spans which consumes me
Every morning I have to lay in the grass, naked, so that I can dry. I’m not damp from the shower. I spread my legs in the grass to dry out, you understand? The sun and the wind must dry me. But every morning without fail, a female jumping spider about the size of my big thumbnail will leap from the grass and latch onto my clit. It doesn’t bite, but it hugs it tight with its legs. I do not go lay naked in the grass with my legs spread for this express purpose but it happens every morning without fail, and when it does, I decide to stand up and go inside and put my jeans on. And despite the contours of my natural body, you can see the outline of the spider through my denim
