The leaves scrape mid dance
Encased into a joy none know
Puppeteered by gusts
A mouth of our own couldn’t exhale
Six moths linger soft
Wing dust fallen and lost
Luminescence calls
Even our smallest
We are all just scraping
Against the harsh urban concrete
Pulled by the wind of our own breath
Which will one day pause
And the leaves will settle
To prepare for the sun to beam once more
For the moths who are left.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
The leaves scrape mid dance
Encased into a joy none know
Puppeteered by gusts
A mouth of our own couldn’t exhale
Six moths linger soft
Wing dust fallen and lost
Luminescence calls
Even our smallest
We are all just scraping
Against the harsh urban concrete
Pulled by the wind of our own breath
Which will one day pause
And the leaves will settle
To prepare for the sun to beam once more
For the moths who are left.
