Moth Boy

I laughed when you brought it home

stuck it next to the sofa

and sat for hours

marvelling at the way its glow

mellowed the room around us.

I called you ‘Moth Boy’

because of the way you fluttered around

basking in its luminescence.

And everything felt lighter there

under its glow

with the downlights off

there was no sharpness

no stark contrasts

no onslaught of photons

to cling to our skin

and make us feel

like we weren't assembled correctly.

And so we danced

under its twilight hues

where nothing else mattered

just two moths

and a lantern that lit up the room

in all the right places

until dawn broke through the window

and scattered its soft glow

into sharp light

the kind that highlighted

the parts we tried to hide

but the mirror always exposed

the patched up pieces

that ever-growing list

of dysmorphic things to fix

that never can be

and so we braced ourselves

for it to expose us

to metamorphosize the parts we loved

into something ugly

and unwanted

but this time it didn't

and I choked up like an idiot

called you 'Moth Boy'

and spluttered out the words

into daylight when I realised

it was never the lantern

that had lit up the room

in all the right places.