when I scrambled into my red bed
slipped quietly between the green
camouflaged sheets, my lips bled,
and the crimson sadly tarnished the sheen
of the silk pillows, (one below one of top of my lion-head)
eyes, ink-stained, peering in the glow,
listening to the minueting membranes
of the newly-dead;
it scratched crab-like yet daintily
at the staring windows, at first faintly
then more viciously urgent until
vanquished I slipped out over the marble sill,
looked back and saw its furry head
madly bobbing around in the red bed.
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