Their wings are made of paper and their blood is made of dust. Our lights ruin their radar and I’m not sure but it must be overwhelming to be thinking that you’re that close to the sun – feel its gravity like anchors; god I bet it weighs a ton. They are females, and I let them in the window when I’m drunk. They taste me with their feelers, look with huge unblinking eyes that are really empty oceans in perpetual midnight – they get embarrassed if I watch them in their awkward states of flight and then are gone without a whisper in the morning when I turn and throw my arm around nobody, notice that the soft deep purr they make when they are sleeping has ceased and is no more. Naturally, there is a space between the wall and door.


~ by perfectionatrix on June 4, 2011.

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