I am your moth

I let you draw me in from the night

And then I’m

Shimmering dust under fluorescent light

Liqourish legs sticking

to your skin.

You let my dust coat you

I’m allergic, you say, but fuck it

everyone’s allergic to something.

I taste like trash

like dead paper that no one will ever read

or so i’m told

but i am so soft

to touch, and I touch and I

want to nibble you and lick you and suck you

I want to fuck you with my proboscis

Like bees flower fucking.

But you collect the honey from my eyes

leaving me dry and sugar free

And then the way you say ‘free’

sounds like the lights turning off

and i hear

flies being swatted

and i hear

take them off

and

if you won’t take them off then i will

I will take off your wings

pull off your legs

you know

it’s really your fault

for not being born

a butterfly

Photo courtesy of James Wainscoat

Categories: Poetry