TAUGHT

by A. Diao Lavina

Steady now, this curdling tension will not maim.
Her heart is glass. You burn to pitch the brick.
But scorn the drunken moths swaying to the flame.

Look, man, you'll see we all have our games.
We languish in unlit corners. We nurture histrionics.
Stead, now. This curdling tension will not maim.

Love isn't some roaring beast a lover eventually tames,
Although the laugh, the eyes, these prove hypnotic.
Do you scorn the drunken moths swaying to the flame?

In these affairs, what we mean isn't quite the same;
A kiss in dreams unbecomes deep and cryptic.
So steady, now, this curdling tension will not maim.

In time the rippling circles crossed but widened in the frame
And chance lost the few remaining stones in later ticks.
We still scorn the drunken moths swaying to the flame.

Days will regain their motion. Your heart relearns its name.
Happiness, like loss, is an old persistent trick,
So steady now, this curdling tension will not maim.
You'll scorn the drunken moths swaying to the flame.