Moths

What's it like?
Mothers know
the boarding call;
dancers know the strain,
there is misery
and there is a pattern,
after,
it's in your face
and it is accepted,
as no place 
no eternity,
is ever large enough 
to portray playing
as asunder.

I don't understand
A nail and seal
upon a blooming place,
All along once we were,
and parcels expel
and eyes wander;
building sets in
thinking diseased,
and make crashes
in roses 
and cool water 
feels me-

I
am 
deep red,
I am the dripping 
of seeing me,
I am all those things
You thought 
And no matter 
The dripping,
You go faster
And you think more
of what I did tomorrow
In your mind 
and I will be nothing 
On the night 
as I am amongst flowers...

Push through,
searching fragrances,
Pulling up moist dirt 
and the same 
and the shame of planting 
seeds in accord 
to instructions:

rows of roses, next
to annuals and
don't forget the fall
as he wants to stay warm.

So future casts,
and I've saw it,
it was a revival;
it is the lock-step of 2,
You feel down 
Teeth are tight,
fists in nails in your skin;
never, never
the same;
I hum,
moths pattern again-
flutter flutter,
I am soft again
and I love you...

too.

I am your hands,
I am watered and sweet
and I can close my eyes
when in rain and storm;
I am strained
I am his creation,
I pray in sun,
I live 
and accept my fate.