Humid Hiking [Poem]

My skin so hot and sticky,
Hair adhering messily
To my throat, chest, face.

Mosquitoes humming hungrily,
Low along the ground
(When will they land? Soon.)

My huffing, wheezing breath
Attracts them – they fly
Upwards, prick me, everywhere.

I slap ineffectually on my
Thighs, belly, face, neck,
Still they rise, a living cloud.

My flesh will be festooned
With their carcasses, ere long;
A walking towelette,
A moving sponge,
Is what I become.

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