After Learning Bees Were Associated with Love
During the Renaissance
All morning my hands have been on my skin,
a conversation in longing with another person
in a different bed. Honey, I say to the open
window, I’m kind of buzzed for us.
It seems impossible to hold sweetness
without the sting, but once two people embraced
during a gas leak and no one died. It was a longing
I hadn’t seen before, the pollen of rare plants.
If I wanted to taste the nectar
of love, I’d leave the threads of my dress
in the garden of the woman I wish
to hold like a blossom. I curl my mouth
around a petal and deepen the bulb —
let the bees spin as I slip a song into her pocket.
Maybe desire is what bees have, how
they communicate with each other through
dancing. A bedroom corsage of waltzing.
If I found a way to exist truthfully, I might
sip the honey directly from the hive.
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