Moths

Behind we left the sheltering dark of the cocoon.

Amidst hot midnight dreams of June,

We try to fly to the philosophers behind the moon,

But street lamps, we realize soon,

Are the closer happiness – an even better boon.

We dance in the light that looms,

Together, relentlessly, towards our own doom

Until blinded we will swoon.

Behind we left the sheltering dark of the cocoon.

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