With finger outstretched silently, I reached into the night.
Summoned by my pulsing warmth, a moth took break from flight.
I studied the moth for all it was, enamored by the thing,
But as I began to express myself, the moth had taken wing.
I stood there lonely for a moment, in company of the moon,
the simple beauty of the insect had moved me,
despite being here and gone so soon.

One of little faith,
Poorly you did fare.
You set your heart upon a path
And never made it there.

You sway your hips when you walk away from me. I see the emphasis you put into each step; you transfer the motion to your hips rather than your knees. You think I will find this sexually attractive. Woman, I am blind to these nuances.
There is a light behind your smile: a studio light. You straighten your upper lip when you grin so I won't catch a fleeting glimpse of your prominent gum line. You restrain yourself; you present your perceived best; hoping this will be appealing to me.

Woman, the only way you could ignite my interest is by shamelessly exposing the ugliness you try to hide from me. I have seen a lot of pretty women. You are nothing exotic to me. What is exotic to me is seeing your vulnerable, disgusting humanity slip out and scatter all over the floor like a snapped pearl necklace. Seeing you flustered as you scramble to pick up all the beads: each passing second adding another degree to your burning shame. This would make you stand out to me.

I am dead. My self is spent. If you're looking for a person he has long since been evicted.

Erroneous– and worn upon,
One's deep thoughts do lead one on,
Like mischievous wisps of tobacco smoke
Evading the lips they do provoke.

I have found Emma. She is in me. She is out of me. She is around me. Emma cradles me in the ever-marching line of time.
I have wasted so many nights grieving over my loss. Over the loss of her. but Emma isn't lost. We were one. My half lives on, and hers too. Separated, we are whole apart.
We are whole apart. That sounds fantastic.