White-speckled and fanatical
He flies
From the stucco walls
To the porch light I left on for you

It is a fancy he cannot fight
He loves for reason etched inside him eons back
And his beloved
Will kill him without mercy

He flies with passion
His wings, always clipped

Aimless it seems
But knowing nothing more
He circles each night the same

Closing the drapes now
The cruelest of epiphanies
Creeps up on me:

You are a porch light.