Humid Hiking [Poem]

My skin so hot and sticky, Hair adhering messily To my throat, chest, face.

Mosquitoes humming hungrily, Low along the ground (When will they land? Soon.)

My huffing, wheezing breath Attracts them – they fly Upwards, prick me, everywhere.

I slap ineffectually on my Thighs, belly, face, neck, Still they rise, a living cloud.

My flesh will be festooned With their carcasses, ere long; A walking towelette, A moving sponge, Is what I become.