With you, with the night, I lie
Mesmerised: watching a lone moth
Float to the surface of the dark
And stick like a dusty lilypad
To the window-partition.
Slowly rising, like the sun
Pressed against the glass,
Wings fluttering like eyelashes.
I thought we were hidden.
In a bed of escapism,
Pinning our reflections on the sky
With finger-painted smiles
And offering Judas kisses to the moon
While it scowled down like an ancient Mass.
That we had imagined new selves
Hiding in a building’s forgotten pocket
And toying with separatism,
Our slice of concrete hive
As distant as blue-remembered hills;
We had declared a new periphery.
But the world continues, endlessly
To try and flush us out.
The room swells, spot-lit.
Light thickens around us like amber.
The hanging bulb
Shining like an anglerfish lure;
A glass ball of night-sun
God, reflecting in our eyes.
The moth fizzes, hones, dilates,
Eclipsing our bodies
With a shadow like an omen.
And then, gleefully, he swings
Like a wrecking ball hitting the glass.
A clanging thorax alarm clock.
An exoskeleton belly flop.
An incessant, pounding pendulum.
The stars begin to expire.
A glittering dark, a mansion of lights
Slowly extinguished, room by room
As the morning rounds towards us;
The moon tarnishing until soon
It is little more than a dull, silver coin
Rusting into an awakening sky.
But I can close the shutters.
Push back the dawn.
So we lay in the black day
Sleepless like addicts,
Further into the sheets,
Our helium words sagging
Like tired, withering balloons.