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."