Moth

I don’t burn with desire for you,
My heart doesn’t pound or throb,
But somehow I feel drawn to you,
You’re a lantern in the smog.

It’s not like boundless adoration,
Nothing near mindless desire,
But a flickering fascination,
The flutter of nascent fire.

I love your overwhelming curiosity,
The mischief in your gaze,
Your controlled cordiality,
The subtle tones in what you say.

The way your psyche tocks and ticks,
Intricate clockwork ever spinning,
Your endless riddles and eloquent tricks,
Have me more than just simply thinking.

I’m not sure whether you feel it,
But there’s that glimmer in your eye,
The spark that pulls me to it,
That soft internal sigh.

So I guess I’m the gray moth,
Which would make you the flame,
I’ve decided to fly closer,
And I hope you’ll do the same.