A Mosquito's Religion Poem by nathan martin

before the hemoglobin rush's in parting life from life.
empty abdomens swirl from the dust. born to die,
their parasitical humor is a terror in the ear.

blood from wine in the vein.
drawn past the epidermal sanctity
of a crimson relic.

swiftly they fly about seeking that aching moment.
with tourniquet wings buzzing set in
veneration about their host.

and for a brief moment they seem holy
enough to not need to mend their religion
and carry out these kindless proverbs.

but then falling from grace so gently
they descend down thouching lightly
with the bent legs of a sinner
needing redemption.