I’ve never seen his skin,
But I’ve traced the curve of his ribs
Drawing star maps on his anatomy
I’ve witnessed the blade of his hip
Scratched his spine
And run fingertips across his collar
And last night I couldn’t sleep
Watching a set of fragile wings smaller than my pinkie nail
Circle the glow of my lamp, transfixed
After bobbing in and out of the lampshade,
It sputtered and fell onto my bedside table
Moths never know light is lethal
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:30 PM UTC
I’ve never seen his skin,
But I’ve traced the curve of his ribs
Drawing star maps on his anatomy
I’ve witnessed the blade of his hip
Scratched his spine
And run fingertips across his collar
And last night I couldn’t sleep
Watching a set of fragile wings smaller than my pinkie nail
Circle the glow of my lamp, transfixed
After bobbing in and out of the lampshade,
It sputtered and fell onto my bedside table
Moths never know light is lethal
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