Monday, January 21, 2008
The Spaces Available In My Heart Are More Important Than My MySpace...
I'm packing on new days like a fine layer of moth wing dust.
Please treat me gently.
I may seem ugly.
I might be beautiful in your hands?
Maybe a delicacy to some in other parts of the world.
Or a pest.
I can fly when I want to.
I can bite you when you sleep.
You can easily squash me, smoosh me or preserve me in a jar.
I'm attracted to your glow, though.
Be gentle, fucker.