It tracked the light, swindled,
Landed on porcelain,
Bright white and offensive
Its dust scattered immediately
Peppering the perimiter of its prison
I had no idea how long it had been there
And, late for work, I had to get rid
It wasn't quite dead so I made myself scan the details
Before it was washed down the drain by my impatient shower
And it took years for that moth to die
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