They suck my lepidoptera veins dry—

wanton lips I never said I want to

kiss. To capture art in graven face, to

name myself other than girl, to fly as

 

they say “you are too beautiful to kill,”

hidden in disguise of honey soaked wings.

Black and gray in shades of shattered carmine—

abdomen drowned in a dense brown ink. My

 

anatomy is not made to excite,

lungs on display since birth as they collapse

like an exhibit, subject to time. I

strip for starving eyes, carefully they rub

 

away chalk, pen, brush, and ink, on paper;

splash of oil— I unfurl my tongue to drink.