Parasitic lesser beast,
Gladly feasting
Upon my white, pulsating shoulder
A mosquito more daring
Sinking into a familiar vein
Bleeding out, not bleeding alone.
We are ruins of an ancient place,
Where history fades, softy rewritten
Amended to death and buried relentlessly.

Graveside lover,
Pursuing whatever will hurt the most,
Letting my fingers touch the bruising,
Only briefly.
You crave a comfort you do not want,
Because you have not learned how to
Create beautiful things out of softness.



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