A muzzle for the mouth of hell (My bed)

Legs think shaky things
when faced with the thought
of the monsters beneath the bed
the ones that tug the tips of sheets with choking grips
they latch to the hitches in heartbeats
with barbs in their tongues
that were silk once
before what they took
found the smoothness of edges appealing

they tell me
of houses where paint drips from disdain
and the basins echo with ringing regret
from sun up to sun down
I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet
demons run on tightropes
that stretch from sun to stars
from the grope of fleshy knots
my legs pour words
meant for each other
into the holes left by footprints

tramps like us were born to run
but we lost sight of safe
and still can't find away