street lights bloom in the city.
the moon and then unreachable stars,
the moth in danger is drawn to any light,
and trapped in your glow,
we drifted towards whatever would ruin it.
i fluttered to the fire, waited at the edge
of ever fall. far away,
i long to be far away from here...
...the hut was stone
and sat high on the shoulder
of the abyss where the trees
are stunted and shaped by wind,
and this letter i'll never send
is to you, my love.
the moth is drawn to any light
when it can't find its direction.
how close i came to touching you.
you offering passion as a gift.
the quiet kitchen at dawn.
you talking sunlight into a song.
your whispers of love found a home
in my desperate heart, and i told myself,
"don't fall yet,
she's still choosing you."
but the plot had already been written.
a cold draft bled through
the cedar planks of the hut.
we loved each other
in a hundred forgotten life times.
the stone that falls from the ridge
never makes a sound
and you could ruin a man gently,
the way rain undoes a flame.