He places a dead moth on top of the live one.
On the motel door, wings under weight,
and for this alone he deserves to die
if one can deserve the inevitable.
The 2 moths separate into numbers.
The door opens, the door is his hand,
the redhead in the corner's bed opens
the eye of her mouth, says he is the only one
who feels, can find her with himself,
the drapes are thick with silver embroideries
and he is a moth man, her prince of dusty hands
who replaced life with a symbol of life, and then
entered.