The mosquitoes bound in a vanilla sky.
They lie in wait until day is nigh.
They’re drawn to my dermis and flowing sweat.
While concocting distortions of sanguine debt.
They show their weapon. I show my skin.
A look of warning. A maniacal grin.
They blindly stab and pierce my flesh.
A prick. A gushing. A blood red mess.
Bottoms up while they humor their purse.
Salivating lies for their insatiable thirst.
Then they withdraw with a brimming bladder.
And hide away like it never mattered.