Moths

by Columbine

I never got around to mothballing
Those Feelings
figured it can't be too late, I must still have a use for them
so the moths ate them up
gorging scaly nightbellies on overly rich
butterfly food
fluttering naughty hiccoughs over
stolen sunbeams
children drunk on grownups' champagne
infantry broken into the officers' rum
staggering starpaths because, after all, the sun is a star
ruining their moondust wings against
the slick insides of my stomach
trying to be butterflies just for me

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