To Thine Own Self Be Zoo Volume 1 Issue 1 Issue 2 Issue 3 Issue 4 -Issue 5- Issue 6 Issue 7 Issue 8 Issue 9 Issue 10 Issue 11 Issue 12 Issue α Volume 2 Issue 1 Issue β Issue 2 Issue 3 Issue 4 Volume 3 Issue 1 Issue 2 Issue 3 Issue γ Issue 4 Volume 4 Issue 1 |  | Volume 1, Issue 5 The Cult By and By Definitely John *******’s True Thoughts On Zoophilia Shooting Stars Steep and Dangerous Well 8 Poems
# Poems Paws on my Butt Today I woke up with your paws on my butt I was the little spoon in our snuggle I had a hangover, the good kind The kind where you don’t feel too bad really The kind where beating up your insides feels like you got a deep tissue massage The kind where there are a few mysteries to solve I turned around and inductively charged my soul by the smell of your belly After a few good long minutes of this, we made out A Bad Hangover This morning I woke up with a hangover The bad kind The kind where there’s a headache The kind where there’s a dry mouth and throat The kind where your stomach hurts a vaguely concerning amount I woke up an hour before my alarm You woke up too, after a moment You stretched and dug your warm back into the side of my legs I pet you and told you good morning, because suddenly it was The Marked and Pleasant Absence of a Hangover This Morning I woke up this morning with no hangover, And well rested. You laid reversed beside me Like we were a Jack, or Queen, or King. Your sleeping hind legs were atop my chest. I stayed lying with my eyes closed, and breathed. Eventually you had a dream that you were running, And I was the ground. Thank you. Tender Waking up hungover again, sensitivity overtuned to accepting stimuli from the world, I eventually roll towards you and you, bless you, snuggle back into me so we can spoon. Overly sensitive, tender, I get to feel all of your dogness. It is in the weight of your head on my arm that you use as a pillow. It is in the endearing way all of your bones move around inside of you. It is in the sound your paws make when they scratch against the bedsheets or when they tap against the wall. It is in your look when I open my eyes and look at you, and, hi, yes, look at you, you are a dog here snuggling with me on a hungover morning— I love that: that you are a dog. It’s good to see you. It is in the smell of the top of your head and it is in your big-tongued and wide-mouthed kiss. I love you. Good morning, my dog. # ζ Most within To Thine Own Self Be Zoo written by Eggshell Ghosthearth. This website contains works of literature, including narrative fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. Within this literature, any resemblances to any existing copyrighted materials, trademarks, or persons is completely coincidental, or is used for artistic purposes within the bounds of Public Domain, Fair Use, or Public Figure Status. Much of the literature on this site contains themes of sexuality, though is at no point intended to be pornographic. To Thine Own Self Be Zoo is a personal project and is not a for-profit endeavor.