At first it was like moth wings brushing my lips, then his mouth opening on mine.

More once-over, the false lashes opening and closing like moth wings.

Stan Brakhage, the man who in 1963 pasted moth wings onto film.

Can one hear moth wings for three hundred or four hundred miles?

And his hands, light as moth wings on her face.

Her redactive probe, soft as a moth wing, worked swiftly behind his eyes.

Her body was stiff as his lips, light as moth wings, cruised over hers.

He was warm-blooded; moth wings did not change that.

His fingers brushed her again, as though she were something fragile as a moth wing.

I looked up into a gauze mask painted with moth wings.