A Mosquito's Droned Song Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(a mosquito talking to a blood-drained victim)

(i)

In the wallowing
tide of an onyx
night sipping more
black ink,

I eclipse you
into a deep
dark gorge
of mumbled sleep,

when hot breeze
fuels it
with gasoline
to throttle a snore.


Just one
more injection
of a sipping
bite sinking

like caramel
under
the snaky tongue
of your skin.

Swallowing
the stroking sting

warming up
mouth
with the storm
of a sigh

and droned
groan slipping off.

Leaving you
with rose-red
smoldering
eyes
that won't burn me

and quivering lips
that won't
nibble me more
than rusty pincers.

I make a hot
Splashed
And sprinkled
flower of you

jumping out
of a volcano's
gonging mouth.

(ii)

I make you
draw out
the lips
of your largemouth
bass to its edges

out of sweet
sinking pain,

as you grow
into an ocean pout,
but I have
more and more
beaming bait

to make you flip out
your fleshy hand,
a funnel
filtering out blood

into my singing
mouth
only a mosquito
can whisk.

(iii)

And you snap
and punch yourself
out, but not
killing me,

the groaning
mosquito
carrying a mane,

but roaring
through night
with the claws
and paws

of a lion
to maul and mangle
and crush you

into the dust ashes
of embers,
glowing flames
of my sting still
shooting arrows

to land
on the bullseye
of your fleshy
skin carrying nipples

squeezing out
drizzling drops
of blood
to bloat me

into a trumpeting
mosquito
carrying the gun
that shoots
a tentacled parasite

to swim through
marrow
grown paler

than flying ashes
in slithering
hooking threads.

(iv)

O you'll
only tap
the gong of a deep
snore
to make me

draw more juice,
one round
table spoonful
of your blood,

as I sink into you
one teaspoon
of mine

and blow you
into dust,
the only air
spinning you alive.