the_misfortune_of_the_male_mosquito ovenbird We seek only nectar. The sweet sap of sleeping flowers, the sweet thrill of a mate. We see seven slim mornings. Only seven. If we’re lucky. And we are not often lucky. We carry the stigma attached to our sisters and our mates. They sip slick blood from veins to nourish new life. They swallow plasma and cherish the taste. We seek only water in the capillaries of the summer’s last blossoms. We cannot harm you. But you will seek to silence our voices, our lives, our bodies, believing we mean to suck you dry. You don’t see what we lack. You hear the buzz of hunger and extinguish what you don’t understand. 251014 ... raze (i drift through all the rooms of your house, nameless, nascent as an unmet need, drawn to the light that's alive in you. my wings won't do what i tell them to. breath from some strange sphere steers me into darkness, to dream of a meal i'll die without finding so far from the water that made me.) 251014 what's it to you? who go blather from