Moth

Don’t tempt me to be
The moth by your lantern;
I charred fingers, playing with fire,
Caressing flames.
Your soft glow spreads on my skin
Seeps through the spaces.
Like a half-baked solstice
In June.

Countless nights,
I mistook
Stars for fireflies;
Radiating in your orange mist.
And at wee hours, sickly sweet,
You woke me
To your cold fingers,
Surprisingly warm at the tips.

I modeled my reason
To function in cramped spaces,
So I won’t be the moth
By your faint lantern.

I will hover to the sunlight
That squeezes through torn curtains.

1 March 2015

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