She comes to me in the early evening twilight drawn by breath or scent - with the merest of touches she rests her fragile body upon me pressing her eager mouth to my flesh and delicately, with practised skill she slides in her spiny needle drawing the blood from a vein in my arm. I watch as she drinks of me, growing heavy and swollen – I give myself willingly and thus, I do not bleed she leaves not a mark where she fed softly withdrawing from me as I, the great provider offer up my body to the night - feed, dear insects drink of me - my blood is surely thine.
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