Rambling Ivy

There came to me a morning, the sound of pitched alarms
that served to stir me from my rest and into way of harm.
I woke to aches and whining joints as I rolled from side to side,
eventually to tumble forth and into day's new light.
I fell from sheltered mattress, to cold and wooden floors;
felt the dryness in my teeth, my mouth aligned with spores.
I heaved into my open hands but loosen they would not,
and I felt their growth and spread among my orthodontal lot.
Their birth from seed along my gums forced me open wide,
and from their nest, an ivy sprang from me into life.
It held no barbs nor discontent and simple coiled down
and with some love it took each limb and began to wrap around.
In moments there my sight had turned from clear to brilliant green,
and the ivy started rambling about all the things it's seen.
It shook with words and a cheerful voice about its birth and flight
that ended with consumption as I breathed it in the night.
From there on it had learned of me and the ways my flesh did work,
and chose to stay and occupy instead of seeking dirt.
I stood up then and felt my movement smooth and unimpaired;
with every motion, sway and turn I felt the link we shared.
This strange and chatty plant had come and settled in me deep;
his stranger sort of company is one I'd choose to keep.
And while he rambles on and on with jaws beneath his stems,
I will be our walking feet to guide us towards the end.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

More than anything I just wanted to use this title for something.

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