The Bug Collector

A half-moon wind caresses naked skin as a whispered prayer takes flight Love me well when you dream tonight Moonlight hosts a symphony opera with natures orchestral might Insecta songs they sing , for you and friends in your care, I in theirs At these unholy hours thoughts prove masochistic Wise counsel naught but acoustic Un- remittance rends and rips A lover’s melancholy grips in violent tics Unpleasant distance will cause regret For in passions sad neglect lust and jealousy are bred Thence in stealth their war is waged through empty fortresses, razed where loves light hath fled but for one last cry distressed Alas, with deeds time hath cheated surrendered prayers gone unheeded Lay thee abed, in privacy to wed and weep alone instead for those whom companionship hath left for dead As mounted specimens in camphor beds Insecta songs they sang to deafness with only a half-moon wind as witness.