Moth to a Flame

It's burning bright. So tentalizingly bright. I'm blinded, short-sighted by the light. Nothing on my left or anything on the right. Nothing else in sight. There is just me and the burning firelight.

This dance is painfully slow. And yet the rhythm blurring fast. It's hard to keep up. It's difficult to stay with the beat. We are on this dancefloor, and I do not know which way to move my feet.

Is this the junction from which I turn? Do I go straight, or shall I just burn?

I'd love to stay and dance the night on. But the hour's 12, and I promised my return. I'd run down the steps, virtue all a-flutter. But I'd leave on your steps my lone glass slipper.

A little now, but with a promise of later. Don't worry, I have the other slipper.

Baby, I'm a moth to a flame. Tempted by the burning candlelight. I'll stay for this number, but I need to leave before midnight.

Love, LinZy~