fem[dot]nz

My stomach is full of moths

I don’t know why people don’t like them

Butterflies stole the spotlight with their pretty colours

But what’s not to love about a bug that eats cloth and insects

Brings new life to old clothes

I didn’t mean that literally, by the way.

My stomach is not full of moths,

Though it feels like it is.

A trembling joy is being held captive,

Kept from a moment too pure

A girl drapes along a couch, headphones on

Curls obscuring that face

Mouth just ajar, relaxed

I wonder what chaotic dreams take place.

Careful not to gaze too long at such beauty,

I look back at the table,

Afraid to shatter the moment