The orange moth flirted,
wings fanned; Attracted
by turquoise shimmers of
glowing balls beneath the surface.
And now she just floated,
skimming the crestline
of my hairy white gut.
Sliding past her,
stepping low and
gliding lower until my mouth
met a spider,
dead at the deep end;
The orange moth floats forever
until the pool boy is summoned.
And I sink lower
with every step forward
until I am covered
in chlorinated water.
Thirsty for the sun
and forgetting of tomorrow.
The orange moth floats forever,
fornicating death,
postulating some promise
we are too afraid to venture.

written on 05/19/2012 by: Matt Kane