Auctorial Abscondences in Opusculum

Moth/Mouth

I'm a papermouth.
But still I cage moths instead of releasing butterflies.
It's cold inside but still no rhyme frosting my fingertips.
Fingernails eaten by the moths inside my cupboard.
I trapped them there; afraid their wings were wax.
But just because they can't spin gold doesn't mean they can't spin flax.

The tiny insects caged in a microscope. 
Look, but don't talk.
After all, I'm a papermouth.

The hardest thing you'll ever do is set free the butterflies inside your mind,
flying out into the light despite the fact that you are blind.

We circle around lights, sure that we're meant to stay to the side,
not realising that the brightest lights of all are ones we hide.

Don't talk with a papermouth.
Or do, and let words like moths fly free.