…
So what
of flutter? The mutter
-ing of breeze through whisper
wings, the chalky trust of some
-thing warm, unwielding? How
many flits to get to the center of
it, this sun we can’t seem to stay
away from? And what will I do
when I get me
some?
…
Prompt and image from over at The Mag.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
That’s quite the question you end the poem on ~ nice!
True. Though we know the result, still we go for it! 🙂
I giggled reading it, thinking of the owl and tootsie pop and a moth that simply can’t stay away from the light. This was you at your finest.
Chalky trust…I love that…
I like how you thought to cut the words and sentences to make it seem more flitty like moths.
The shape – hurray. Oh, how I bet they wish they could deconstruct light – and hold it in their very hands (or feet).
This is so beautiful: “the chalky trust of something warm” … Trust is such a crumbling thing. This is an excellent metaphor. And what’s warmer than a body? Hands? A heart? Love is a terrifying leap of faith … daily.
LOL. Thank you. Love and Light, S
How many licks, how many wing beats indeed!