Moths,

I’ll be your flame.

I’ll be orange and pink bangs outside your

screen door, ir-

resistible.

Please

fondle me in the dark.

Please

let greed be like meat on your eyes

while I bathe you in floodlights.

Moths,

flock to me.

Lick my luminescent skin.

You are stones,

my house is glass,

and I embrace my audience.

Moths,

surround me.

Shove your feelers in my open socket

and twist.

You are the electric cords.

I am the liquid.

Kamehamehahaha,

Know know please know

“you asked for this.”

Moths,

stop is not in your vocabulary,

so when I am fireworks,

or road flares,

or saving this fucking ship,

I am ruthless.

Moths,

I can speak your language.