Consort

A kiss of the equine's consort

Upon the tender skin of man
And this sweet summer world
Is how you repay me?
Not in kind words or music
Nor peaceful idyll under climbing skies
But with fangs and stings
With this despised and pitiable fly
Your winged, monstrous vampire
That slips and sneaks upon us
In bloody, unbowed requirement
To ever take without soliciting
And leave this week of violence
Aflame in the wretched flesh