NaPoWriMo 29/4/16: Moths

All day they lie like corpses on sills, in corners

And masquerade as dust.


Night falls. I find them fluttering

Under my cats’ paws, describing perfect circles,

Their dance enticing

The very thing they fear,

Those longed-for claws.


Death cannot come too soon for them, it seems.

Rescued, they return. Consigned to darkness,

Cling to the window-glass,

Pink eyes afire with lust, the Undead, craving

That final, fatal light.



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