the mosquito - the fool - did not realize the paint was not truly skin. it landed on the luminous breast of the maiden, all aglow in the perfect spotlight. the mosquito - the fool - dug the needle into the craquelure veins, sucked the blood.
it wasn't blood. it was old canvas and dried oil paintings.
the mosquito - the fool - flew away believing in the painter's masterful strokes. she found her mate, and laid her eggs with the blood food from the painting in a small patch of water in the old, leaky roof.
for years, afterwards, these moths were everywhere. they had mosquito-like bodies - small and dainty and jagged angles - but they had the dusty puff and gorgeous wings of moths.
guests go home, and find moths hiding in their clothes.
hiding in their hair.
http://www.kimbellart.org/database/index.cfm?detail=yes&ID=AP%201985.03
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