fragment of a poem composed in the shower

[pantryslut]

(this being an LJ, the reader should know that the "I" of the poem is not me, 'K?)

Sometimes my boundaries
are like frog's skin,

permitting some things to pass as easily as breathing,
while others are stopped by the thinnest of membranes.
A small change in the environment
and I die.
Sometimes I sport an extra leg or third eye as a warning

before I clog your drain with corpses caused
by too much sharing.