I watched them for hours on end, astonishingly graceful.
As the day sunk into velvet slumber, it set to find kind warmth.
When the hand of solitude kept, their world was shaken into bits.
As the months came and went, my memory grew jaded of this time.
The moths ate away at the cloth, weeping for the past.
Opposites always grew in these contradictions, though my dragonflies always stayed.