Are You Poison?

Mosquito

Nobody loves like an insect
who only desires the touch of
your skin and the taste
of your blood so deep inside
your shallow flesh.
Others have tried, tried to love
the way such pests and predators,
such parasites, do. Tried to love
me who cannot be soft
and cannot be gentle,
and whose skin is immune
to stings as passionate
as that of yours.
You are no mosquito,
no bug of prey—and,
if you were, you wouldn’t break
through the barrier of my flesh.
Nothing breaks skin which has been
knitted and sewn to keep out
the pests.
Water and air can come in;
breath and bath can reach deeper
than kisses and embraces
and love.
And nobody loves like an insect,
which you claim to be in the evenings,
when the sun has set and the lights are glowing,
drawing you to their touch.
But mosquito you are not,
and mosquito only does my skin
break for, open and wide,
exposing my fragile heart.

March 17, 2008
Author's Note: my personal ode to Ingrid Michaelson, hahaha. Inspired by her songs "Mosquito", "Breakable", and "Masochist". I hope, however, that it was my point I got across, and not hers.
Are you Poisoning Me?