Like a Flame to a Moth

Fires, prominent readers of the laws of attraction, act as suns.
The illiterate moths drink their cheap beers, ready for summer.
They grow tired of sneaking into the girls dormitories late at night, always caught in the pale air as screams become visible discomfort.
The flames escape their room, moths follow with the same lust as a hungry teenage boy craving take out, but that’s a story reserved for another poem.
The women raised the fire alarms, screeching like moth balls stuck in the closet.
The drunken boys and girls make their way to the lake, where moths decompose at an instant along with the retreating embers.
Like a flame to a moth, the moths make out with fiery sensation only to result in orgasmic ash and empty husks of community college bound trust fund kids.


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