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


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s