the moth

the moth
it hung there
fat and juicy, on my wall.
sinister black,
like a hummingbird
cast from heaven.
for a week it was there, never moving.
an ornament,
out of place
in the bright light.
it frightened me at first,
then slowly won me over.
looking so very lonely,
i didn't want to kill it anymore.
just observe it, maybe move a little closer.
at night i wondered what it was doing,
if it would be there in the morning.

then,
after seven days
it left my wall,
flying gracefully across the room.
calculated, precise
into my fan
like it had been planning it for a while.
and like that,
it died.
my evil friend.
i never knew it's intentions,
and it never knew mine.