One mood in truth.

One hope in turn.

One thought at the root:

this superluminous burn

By a pool 'neath the moon

is a sight to make one swoon;

glistening in its coat of dew,

gently unfolding soft petals.

This light seen only by a few

mentally melting my metal


this charmer... of my heart:

The Night Orchid.

Out of phaze, I can only gaze

as flittering moths take flight within me

and the ensuing blaze that will burn off this haze

may be the last sight a sane man may see.

This yearning for The Night Orchid

is the burning of the infected.

Thoroughly ensnared,

I may only stare

the dusty, chalky moths beat fast

as the drops of dew glow their last

...before they are ingested.

Myself, I've become infested.

The multitude of tiny wings

discorporate my being

tossing me to the evening wind

I am left to be drunk in

as they rush madly into the flame

dodging moonbeams on the way

never even knowing the name

but I, with the dew, may say:

I saw her eyes, sparkling in lust.

I believed lies written in dust,

and heard her laughter in the wind

long after her petals closed me in.

swallowed in the dark,

my lifetime but a spark

in the brilliance too wet to forget.

Beware The Night Orchid;

all else becomes insipid.