Upside down I hang with grace, going nowhere at a leisurely pace. I may only poop weekly, but don't test me, my claws aren't meek. I made a famous list where virtue wears thin. Ask a priest about my name, and he'll call it a sin.

One way, a tiny biting fly. The other, a drink up in the sky.

I’m passed without touching, caught without care, one person starts it and soon I’m everywhere.

A patch of treacherous ground, Where sinking steps are quickly found. A murky, muddy, sticky place, That slows your stride and halts your pace. Or, Giggity, giggity.

I string my recurve with intent...sometimes it's good or malcontent...when it hits you your feelings will wake...if unrequited your heart will break...