As I lie, torpid on my bed Darkness consuming all, A single awareness makes itself known A dap, dap, dap, dap against the window. Instantly, I know what it is And I cower under the blankets, Desperatly hoping it will escape, But knowing all too well that it won't. What if it gets inside my shelter? What if it finds a gap? What if it flies towards my face And crawls inside my mouth. I shudder violently at that image. Wings leaving their dusty trail Across my lips. Legs scrabbling furiously across The roof of my mouth, Inching down my throat. Involuntarily I swallow, and wish I hadn't. I imagine it fluttering around inside my stomach. Butterflies in my tummy? Butterflies of the night, maybe. In a fit of anguish I leap up Turn the light on and thrash Wildly with a book, There, against the wall. Forlornly I look on, the wings spread wide, Legs twitching their last, The silvery dust gleaming. A black, oozing stain. A pity, I think. It would be quite pretty in the day. But I never could stand moths.