Great Plains

She licks the poison apples like a purple insect after nectar.
Craves a taste of my blood when the drugs don’t affect her.
A white lattice of lace separates
The silver light falling from above
And the black stain across her face.
She eats my blood when I’ve run out of pills,
Riding in an old car out across the Great Plains.
She drinks my blood when I’ve run out of wine,
Riding toward the distant churning thunderheads.
Her eyes are like wet stones, arms thin and fragile
The sharp teeth she hides behind dry lips chatter,
Click together uncontrollably as she hums, staring
At the thick blue vein that runs through my right arm.
“We have to stop at the next gas station and buy some Valium.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Well, certainly then, some bourbon.”