A Moth to the Flame

Her silhouette
etched into my memory
like her shadow gracing
that wall by
the sea,
the waves crashing
endlessly behind her
their cadence, a rhythm
their power, unseen under
the surface,
I chanced about
the smells of baked apples
vanilla and cinnamon
steaming and scenting
your way about,
in and about,
“Hold me”
you said while face
me, you did not
looking to the side
out to the sea,
the birds cried your name
again,
Drawn to her
the madness instilled
in me
like a moth to the flame
bending to the left, then
bending to the right,
not being able to decide,
Your inherent loneliness
hard to separate
hard to change,
your innermost self
chose the way
you were,
and I

drawn to the madness
like a moth to the flame

first to the left
then to the right
never being able
to decide
which direction

was the best….

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