mundane

I am like a moth to the light of the sun
I know I will end up burnt
but I do not care
it feels so good that I do not mind at all

to the light of the sun of noon on the summer of my city
and the light of the moon in the first hours of her full phase
the cold close to the ground and the burning of the light around
I am in love with the idea of being in love as written on the books I have been readind

oh so impulsive
so out of mind
gut trusting
but oh so mundane

anything that stick to her skin of body and soul
feels a prison to be in
smothering, catharsic, lifeless
the unexpected is long gone from their pores
or never melt in the heat of their sweat

I need to feel
only then I am alive