The Day I Learned About the Vampire Ground-Finch
For the first time in years,
I thought of you —
the velvety notes
of your Thierry Mugler
that both nauseated
and captivated me,
the way your 6'4'' heavy build
pinned me to the wall
while your crew praised
you as a golden god.
After three years with you,
I discovered that your entire
essence could fit into
the palm of my hand.
I wondered how I allowed
you to overtake me for that long.
Did I choose to ignore
your sharp beak as it first broke
my skin, the insatiable way you engorged
on my thin lifeblood
the way your shifty dull eyes gauged
my tolerance to repeated pecks
that were somehow indiscernible to me?
The day you decided I was of no use
to you anymore, you spread
your bloated, blackened wings
and pelted dust into my eyes.
I didn't grasp the value
of your absence then.
I do now.
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