In search of his one true love he quested last night.
To begin life again has its own physics,
but his, his was the kinetics of generations of destiny.
The moth need not overcome the inertia of its own distracted life
but beats and thrums incessantly.
Maniacally its wings "rat-a-tat-tat"against the clear light cover
storming the glass, battering the obstacle twixt it and the heat it seeks.
He threw himself again and again
leaving grey and brown dust marks where others luckier than him had found the secret entrance in;
he could not tear himself away from the beckoning siren light
and fly a few hundred feet instead to where the female waited
wings flat and still like a collector’s pinned specimen
pheromones spreading their welcome
just beyond domestic sight.
At last his Achemon god said yes to the drumming of his plea
up over the glowing globe he mounted and into his one true love he came
Pfft, and thump were the inglorious end to his hummingbird like flight
and now he is still but for the toss and catch in an orange feral cat’s game.