My Bitch

My bitch awakens me each morning with kisses, Sometimes on my face and neck,

And others on my feet.

We both love it,

Even though her breath reeks.

 My bitch is long and lean,
With short black hair that is sleek to the stroke,
Tanned legs and face,
And big, beautiful brown eyes
That shine with both youth and intelligence.

My bitch follows me wherever I go.

She never gabs my ear off with inane chatter,

But whenever I speak,
She tilts her head and listens intently.
If she doesn’t understand all that I say, she sure has me fooled.

Whenever I come home,
My bitch greets me at the door with kisses,
Happy to see me, no matter what:
Even if I’m in a bad mood,
Or have lost money,
Or my job.

 When I’m sad, my bitch is there,

And always cares,
And always knows what to do to comfort me.
She stands or sits by my side,
Showering me with affection until I feel better...
At least a little...

My bitch will never spread lies about me,
Steal from me,
Leave me,
Or betray me in any other way.
As long as she’s alive, she’ll be with me, and be mine.

My bitch is the best friend you could ever have.

Yet some people,

Given the chance,

Would sell her, neglect her, torture her, or kill her,

Because she is, after all, “just an animal...”

Or is she?
Or is it those of us who are too ignorant
To realize the beauty of the bitch
Who are the real animals?

My bitch deserves a better title than “bitch.”
Even the words “dog” or “canine” do not do justice
To a creature who will always be
Kinder and more faithful to me than most humans I’ll meet,
If I ever meet any, that is.

They are more human than humans, these bitches.

“Bitches,” my ass...
They should be called “angels.”