MOTH TAMER

Your smile burnt out. Done

with attracting me.

Your laughter, a flame

I’ll never return to.

You flick me away with a raspberry slug from your tongue

while stargazing with your new hand holder.

Trap me in your bedroom the night you close all the windows

before making her scream.

I play dead, floating in the glass you sip

before pressing a strand of promises

against her grape-filled lips.

Your porch light yawns,

“Turn me off so she’ll go away.”

Inside, I chew through her additions

to your sweater drawer.

Land in her salad and take a piss.

Disguise myself as a fancy decoration

on the cap of her perfume.

Take a decade to walk across

her side of our bed

and whisper the lyrics

of an Annie Lennox song

in your ear.

I straddle the tip of your nose

when you snore

and hatefuck it.

Curl up in your grandfather’s ring

on the bedside table

and moan.

Die behind the blinds,

antennae touching that thumbprint

smudged against glass.