Pretty fly.

The winged insect
   Glid in through the door,
 Buzzed around by the floor
Then appeared to inspect
The brimming books and discs on the shelf
As I sat and watched him and my self.
Such a cornucopia of cacophonous colour,
It occurred to me,
      He should only see
     In the faces of his wind-blown and blooming brides
                          Back out through the door outside,
    So I reached and made the    g a p   a little more wide.

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