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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
Written by
Julia DeStefano  F/Boston, MA
(F/Boston, MA)   
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