queen of the mosquitos

eventually i gave into their hunger.
i am the blood mother of a flock. 
i go outside 
with a bare face.
open for their feast. the jewels
they plant beneath my skin.
a private collection. pearls 
& sideways rockets. i am always
the one eaten the most. i am unsure 
if this is fate or a learned behavior.
i remember being a child 
& admitting to other kids rule-breaking.
sitting in the time severed land 
while everyone else got a spot 
in the mobile. 
the mosquitos notice it first.
they come like children 
in a school without sugar. i name them
after lovers. when those names
run out i switch to stars & galaxies.
the mosquitos know the smell
of my flesh. know exactly how many 
birds i have devoured in a day. 
they ask about my wounds
as they drink. it can almost feel
symbiotic in the throws of 
the moment. then in the afterward
when they are gone i feel like
a queen without butter. i try to call them back
but they are busy being blueberries
in the dark sky. i have a vision of 
all of us together. my body,
a gown. their wings like dog-eared bible pages.
in the end i think we are all royals 
of something. me, just the back door
& the light on the porch. you maybe
a garden bursting tomato wide. 
i ask the mosquitos what my blood
tastes like & they say, "moon light."