The quiescent moth suddenly spreads its wings...

The quiescent moth suddenly spreads its wings as it rests on the windowpane. The design it creates would be loved by my friend R. who would stare at it with reverence were he here. In homage to my friend and the moth, I will stare at it in reverence, for its symmetry is almost a fearful thing to behold in its perfection, and we are but chunks of flawed humanity.

When folded, the moth is near invisible, attracting no more attention than a burnt match would in a filled ashtray.

*

Perspective is everything, or so my father, the artist, told me. Others, older ladies for instance, declared, "position is everything". Each believed they were right.

*********

Signs of competence in a male sometimes poetically and erotically awakened her. This was caused perhaps, by the fact her mother alone had raised her. The male of the species became mysterious by default. In the eyes of other females she was an absurd woman, placing far too much romantic expectation on the shoulders of men, whom the other women knew to be clods and dunder-headed idiots most of the time.

She was an oddly perverse and often dreamy type who seldom dared to give voice to her fantasies regarding anything. She harbored within, a secret desire never spoken to a lover, to be bound at the wrists occasionally with red silk scarves, and now and again, spanked lightly during sex.

*

There are many opportunities lost in the course a lifetime.

*

All that sashaying about in rustling taffeta gone to waste. But then, she was too young at the time to recognize the extraordinary value of seduction through lowered eyes, restless whispering fabrics worn with the face of innocence, and vaguely smoke scented floral colognes.

Of course she learned eventually, but by then, taffeta had gone out of style, and flirtation was a game played for keeps, often with bad results.