I pity these dead moths
And their foolish minds.
They lie in rest
Under the very same street light
That they died for.
I can not help but to think
That if only these moths
Could aquire some wisdom,
They could learn to desire the light
The same way I desire you:
Knowing that the second I touch
I get burned,
Yet remaining as close as possible,
So that I may experience
The beauty
Of your warmth and radiance
Without ever truly touching.