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Julia DeStefano Jul 2019
I have a bruise on the inside of my thigh,
a reminder of some prehistoric insect’s dinner.
It was intoxicated by my scent after a morning run,
bare legs swinging in the midday heat -
and who wouldn’t be?
I am decadently sweet.
I even come with a cherry on top.
The bugs, they know this, and line up outside my door
to feast at first sight of The Red Queen.
Single file, please.
Do they wish to turn me, as a vampire does its unsuspecting victim?
I do not know and shudder at the thought.
I migrate my fingertips towards the unsightly mark -
this remnant of incisors that tore
through blue-veined, porcelain skin
without so much as a thank you note.
How dare it maim me!
It must be punished.
You see - it throbs like a bassline through my chest,
unafraid to make its presence known with each graze.
Calling Dr. Love - the wrong one has kissed me!
What are you going to do about it?

© Julia R. DeStefano
Julia DeStefano Jul 2019
It is summer.
You watch my lines.
You know they emerge from my big heart. 
My turned-on nerves play a symphony.
I love it when you watch, though you straddle the doorway.
I sit at my desk, the room of my life where I hang the WANTED sign.
I have the patience of a chess player in the thousandth round.
I have a checkered flag in my back pocket if you'll start your engine.
I was born wanting - weaving the words that will dream my life whole - 
poems that make a suitable bedfellow, offer immortality, and in some miracle promise to love me.
You met me this way -
dancing in circles with  my pen in-hand 
among books, so many books.
You watched me ignited and whirling into flame,
breathing in the smell of a love like Paradise in the moonlight 
with only yes, yes, yes on my radio.
I could feel our bodies wanting to lose their loneliness,
burst like firecrackers in an explosion of color -
you the explorer and I, the map
coming with kisses.
But oh, do you smile sweetly 
while you shuffle your feet
as say Live!
The song is the life
and you have but one to sing.
Listen -
can you hear it?

© Julia R. DeStefano

— The End —