Butterfly ash,
forgoteen on the petal,
of an orange chirping afternoon,
stain spot,
of coffee,
or lipstick,
trailing too a violin shop,
with tiny finger prints,
left on the shop window,
a moths wisdom,
fluttering by my wool ear,
it listens too unsolved symphonies,
or graveless Mozart,
and leaves at 2 a.m.,
out my window,
and when i wake,
the moth is back,
standing on 6a.m.,
there is nothing to say,
so it stays.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
Butterfly ash,
forgoteen on the petal,
of an orange chirping afternoon,
stain spot,
of coffee,
or lipstick,
trailing too a violin shop,
with tiny finger prints,
left on the shop window,
a moths wisdom,
fluttering by my wool ear,
it listens too unsolved symphonies,
or graveless Mozart,
and leaves at 2 a.m.,
out my window,
and when i wake,
the moth is back,
standing on 6a.m.,
there is nothing to say,
so it stays.
