The gentle caresses of a curse lull to sleep both grace and karma neither quick to action and fate is just another name for coincidence.
Foolish thing desire,
A hollow bell summoning attachment to the feast but there are no silver grains of rice and apricots with emerald pits but empty as coconut relieved of its juice.
A cocoon leading to metamorphosis or worse yet, back to caterpillar, crawling up branch to find that particular leaf.
There is some happiness stolen from it bite by bite.
Eating without satisfaction but not eager to see Ramadan or Lent. The fast seasons leaving one begging for dates devoid of tahini or just a scrap of meat and wants feel more like needs.
But this could push moth into being
Then the sweaters should beware.