NATIONAL POETRY MOTH

Would it be the moon

or a shimmer of your wing

I come to the light

at the tunnel end of darkness

I come into you

the dream

and I receive pain

the light blinds

but still I persist

your appeal is addiction

I live in resignation

to the fate of attraction

I could not resist

typing into fire

becoming gas and ash

all to be more near

to bring into my eyes

the light that you are

the pain I ignore

for it comes with life

but why must I

live just to die?

Oh?

You said poetry month!

Forget about it.