A wasp bends over the soft-skinned front breast to puke up
jam. At the same time, its lancets pump poison into the sore.
I boil the dragonfly in fresh milk. A tiny feeler wriggles
and writhes on my sticky blood lip. I suck the juices out of
the lamprey - I press the clump up against the palate with
my tongue. The soft parts crunch. Out of the ulcerated corner
of my mouth leaks a creamy muck of wasp-pigments and starch.
Small larvae swim beneath the skin. Small larvae glide and
glitter beneath the thin virgin skin.
Suction cups ache. Sugar solution flows inside the dragonfly.
A wasp, shimmering with secretions, creeps slowly across my
fermented thigh, my bruised death-hip.
It glows brightly.
Translated from the Swedish
by Johannes Goransson
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