Moths
The tiny moths are falling
They fall,
Drifting
Ever
So
Slowly
In the absence of wind.
But sometimes the sky breathes
Gentle sigh and they flutter
Angry huff and they fly
Either way, they like me
I can tell by the way
They cling to my hair
But my love is too much
Too hot
For their fragile wings
And they fade within seconds
Of saying my name
Copyright © Vella Taliare | Year Posted 2018
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