you didn’t want to bleed on me
so you feed on me instead.
I didn’t see
the red in your teeth,
the darkness in your head,
three jaws of needle sharp dread.
I wonder when
you must have broken my skin.
I think it was the parking lot,
I thought
they were butterflies
but they were parasites.
And a storm raged outside,
warning me
desperately
of the dangerous
passenger clinging
next to me.
I lifted
my lips
to your razor kiss.
My pale skin
must have been
so inviting.
you latched,
you gorged,
and when you had your fill
you plopped off
like a stagnant sponge,
like a bloated sore.
They say not to salt a leech,
it will regurgitate blood
into the open wound.
So instead I hold you tenderly.
I wipe my tears from your cheek.
you will digest me slowly.
Years from now
when you need
to feed
again,
I hope you think of me
and still taste the sweetness.
