Ghosts (revision 3)

[newsclippings]

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.
I think you can restructure "does it again" into something more beautiful

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.
this is your best stanza

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

I don't get the "life of everything" line. Call me daft.
I dunno if you've noticed, but moths turn to dust even when hit with moisture. I'd know, because I've accidentally eaten one.