Noctua

 
There's a moon glow in the moment,
dispersing my learned stumbles.
A shrivelled faith stirs, unfurls
despite the bladed wing whirls.


Her instinct flits around, fluttering,
a lost moth seeking porch lights.
She has nestled in layers
of petal soft toxins.


Viscidity trails in the night air,
sticking clouds to stars,
when hemolymph bleeds clear intentions.
My eyes are bruise blue.


Her determination steals
from her epileptic aura.
My palms upwards, face open
and torsion bare, bare.

I am hers, to fold into detestation.