and speaking of mosquitoes……
Our mosquito rises, repellently, elegaically, on its flight, zigzagging, ghostly and dangly towards its victim; our plump darling, sat drinking iced milk through a straw in a flowery, dainty summer dress and some banal, little powdery rose perfume she has pilfered from her mother’s table.
She know the insects love her, so she is slathered, also, in citronella, in an attempt to stave off the little bastards that always have her skin come up so hard, ruddy and elevated; the metallic, synthetic deetness of her sprayed repellent mingling, absorbedly, with her rosebuds: her warm, milky afternoon breath.
In her sunhat, under the shade of her favourite tree, on this boiling hot July day, she is reading.
” What do you stand on such high legs for?
Why this length of shredded shank,
Queer, with your thin wings and your streaming legs
How you sail like a…
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