The Love of a Gypsy Moth
Damn the patient wanderer,
the gentle moth,
the gypsy dreamer
that dreamed away years at my chest.
He besieged my shield of insignificance
soliciting tenderness from numbness
and digested the seams
of callouses
sewn over old betrayals.
He drank despite the homely flavor
of layers of dull fabric
and found crimson thread,
the hidden nectar of my heart.
And I loved him.
The shy moon winked,
flirting with restless wings,
and he was gone,
sunshine forgotten.
My heart trails behind,
stretched West to East,
yearning for the unreachable,
waiting for the thread to break.
and I, naked on the inside,
a moth eaten jacket drawn tight
and a sequence of styptic hiccups
to drown the echo of,
"I still love you."
|