a cautious malcontent, i wait always for the breath before the rain.
hovering close to the skirts of the swirling thunderheads
i have waited always just over your shoulder, in the corner of your eye.

i weave a bright web of possibility, washed dull in the years
that preceded the advent of your mouth. i have always waited
and spun, carding gristle out of the warm wool of the past. 

i could lie and say i have waited, but all these quiet years i have planned
waited and planned for what my future could look like
but the years turn me over, bend me toward a different scheme.

purled into a more sinister shape i grift my way through days
seeking shelter more than love, comfort more than care.
a common moth, i fly to your flame, flicker only at the edges.