Here it is:
Jerk yourself into the sun on Icarian wings.
Savor the hot drip
Of your own wax
Into the canals and valleys of your skin.
You bounce and flutter,
Mothlike,
Wings singed and cindered
In the gravitic pull
Of god stars you can't help but orbit,
And in orbiting,
Can't help but covet:
You know you are too densely organic,
Too little gaseous
To ignite yourself
And burn.

How lonely the moth among stars must be.