A Kitten's Fierce Lap of Milk

The strongest tongue,
who laps the farthest
  cries well under their throat,
and lies easier to a sharp eye

I'd like to see her crawl under her own
weather, she'll see her fur before the
  sky scratches dawn,
        The between of grass and sun
makes her purr,
   Mother gone to a black star, the only
pacifism,
        The sliding door smiles at the paw
        smudges of her deceased siblings,
        she licks my ankle, a limb for every
        plea,

                 I feed her nothing but
                 purity,
                 the more catharsis than
                 the temporary health of milk,
             nevermind all that,
                                 I'd give wheels for
                                 her death.