by Jerry Ratch
I already know
how your wings are folded,
and I start feeling a
certain sea-sickness
that won't leave me alone
anymore.
And they let the angels out at twilight,
the dark twins of bats, and
their troubled undersides.
Never were the bats so disturbed.
Never until now has true evil
been so see-through, and clear.
And nostalgia isn't what it used to be
either.
But a good moth never goes bad.
I am over here
taking my clothes off.
I am on my back.
It is you I want.
I'm lying on this towel
on my back in the grass
in broad daylight.
I don't care
if anyone sees us.
God, anyone,
I don't care.
Come inside me
right now,
right here.
This could be the
last time,
and I don't care
if anyone else
knows or sees us.
God, or anyone.
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"...a good moth never goes bad." A saving grace? *