I strip, confident in Larium, in DEET and nets. I light the coil, just in case. Strange pre-bed dance, I arrange the net, but later in the night you announce that I have failed. Your faint hum loudens as you near my ear. I swipe, sleep-stupid, no way to see you. I put on the light. I wait, still. Silence. I listen, then you hum again. Self-betrayed, I know you’re near, but my skin’s too dull to sense your touch. Just sound, faint sound, until a flicker of movement and I see you land on my thigh.
I pause, hand raised, then slowly, slowly move in, eyes closer, hand closer, mustn’t blow you away. And, nearing, I see, strange night intensity, you’ve started to feed from me. You’ve breached my boundaries. Near-sighted, I peer. Caught in the act, you-re magnified, and more as I see your belly swell. I should stop you, little thief, but it’s too late. Instant gone, I’m part of you.
And months later, sweating, aching, I regret my gift, the blood you stole to ensure your dynasty. Generations of mosquitos are there because I gave you part of me.