I’ve Been Thinking About You

See me after class, you’ll find me 

under a delicious decaying log 

in the tunnel maze tents of the webspinners, 

jumping backwards to escape my glare. 

We’ll talk, when the moth hatches 

from her first-class cocoon, at high noon,

after she ruined a perfectly good kilowatt-hour 

power blazer (reliquary quality if not for the moth holes).

You’ll find me

under the scales of her wings, wrapped in lightwaves 

in the manner of throwblankets or sumptuous

silk evening gowns. 

Let’s grab a coffee, catch up 

underneath the beadwork done in India, sold in Italy, 

where the dust mites have yet to colonize 

but their realtors are carving up the dust mite realestate

on the back of a dust mite napkin as we speak. 

You’ll find me trapped 

in a Swarovski crystal, (aurora borealis of course, 

I’m not destitute) between threads, yarns, and bugle beads begging to get snagged. 

Meet me in amber, from a warzone, where I’m fossilized mid-meal. I’ll be

waiting for you, eternally young, frozen in golden gourmet ecstacy until the end of time

or until a jeweler grinds me away or the Tsarists polish me up 

and encrust me in a wall in a palace where I’ll shine for years 

and years until my sisters and I are pillaged by Nazis 

and then you’ll never see me again. 

So. See me after class, 

you will find me 

in the hallway 

hanging, from a cobweb.