Moth
A glimpse, a flash of red.
Strands that catch the light.
Smoldering, enticing -
A moth doomed to ignite.
And suddenly he's back -
Familiar twist and knot.
A touch, a whispered word,
The scent of bergamot.
And from the tainted ashes,
Faint, persistent glow.
She's just another face,
Someone he used to know.
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2012
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