Reward

I keep enclosed in a small piece of glass

hermetic, no air can get through

a small, dead scorpion -

his tail is intact, the sharp end,

well crafted legs, arms wide opened 

welcoming my sweet, warm meat 

my scorching blood - a suspired feast 

He reminds me of an unattainable death

I tried a sort of revival: I prayed for him, lips stuck to the little piece of glass

whispering incantations.

God does not play games.

I buried him underneath the moist earth and let the worms entangle 

around my little lover

but the scorpion is still dead.

I hear his hiss constantly 

day in day out

a brutish ghost following me so small that

he is the corpse of a child.

Tomorrow I will break the glass and let him sit on my hand 

feed his little dead body, nurture him back to life.

I am the owner that he will candidly adore.

One day, I will bring him back; he knows what he has to offer in exchange.

the scorpion will not be dead anymore 

but fatal.

All I will ask him for is

his piercing kiss, ardent and beholden 

that will bestow me the perpetual darkness I have longed for.