Fireflies strobe through the streets
attracting seven year olds, convinced
their mothers will let them keep their
new captures, wishing to
replace their nightlights.

Like fireflies,
you appear as night
finds its strength,
your light radiating
and I reach out to
hold it between my
fingers, wishing to
replace my nightlight.

But,

like fireflies,
I cannot keep you in a
mason jar beside my bed.
Instead, I pray for you to
climb in next to me when
the night is much stronger
than I and the wind howls
at the full moon, sending
shivers down my shaken spine
with every slow tick of the clock.

Your light disappears into the
spaces between my fingers and
I long for your touch,

wishing

to see you again tomorrow.

 

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