I Write Poetry

They fluttered against cold skin
Like little kisses from delicate butterfly wings
Peck, peck, peck
Soft little touches. Landing on polka dots
land, and disappear. Touch ground.
Tiny soft moist lips drenched in warm breath
Grazing against so gently. So gently it hurts.

What about? How about?
Thin needles, on
flesh
Some buried in, some running through
Piercing
Through and out, in and out
Poking, poking, bursting out, emerging
Melding into a mask of
Blood

Droplets on lashes, in the shape of crescents