ETIOLATED

MOTH SEASON

i know
i have become
the most tantalising breed
of a stranger to you:
1) i draw you in
(like a moth to a flame)
2) and push you away
(with the burnt tips of my fingers)
3) and get you to cradle
my charred hands under the tap
(like icarus, his feathers
he beheld in the waves)

i know
there's a dent in my bed,
my moth-eaten bedsheets
where you once laid and you said
"i don't know you"
and truth be told
(the moon-lit moth takes flight;
strike a match against the tree bark
of my healed wounds)
i don't know me either