I think in terms of bumbling bees, our hive a city—
London city, his city, the city [I can’t help but to think of him always]
where he exists in me, the city where I might what to be, full-
faced and flush across from him at a table with a beer.
London city, his city the city [I'll have a cider, but he wants his Guinness.]
by the end of the night we might not feel it so vividly, but we are alive.
I face the sun; flush, golden. Across, he stares over the rim of his beer.
In his arms each night, I might think that I am the center of the world,
by the end of the night I might not feel it so vividly, but he is mine.
His earth revolves around me. He and I make honey in the dark of the covers
in his arms. I decide to believe that I am the sun of this world; he, mercury.
Cotton tent a top us, the two of us hot. I wake with honey dried, peeling
like crust of earth. Revolve around me. He and I taste like honey in darkness.
My thighs waxed, smell of honey. Again, I feel centered, but I know better.
Cotton tent a top us, the two of us hot. I wake with honey dried, peeling
second skin. I’m not centric in his world, I am only the center of my own.
My thighs waxed, smell of honey. Each morning, I feel crucial to his rotation—
Here, he exists in me, for me, this city where I might what to be, full-bodied
I’m second, not centric, he moves without me. I am only the center of my world.
I think in terms of bumbling bees. Our hive doesn’t exist anymore.
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It’s all a dream isn’t it? [In my head I don’t hear the ‘s’ in ‘isn’t’ and I’ve never quite been sure why my internal voice does that. I don’t speak that way, so why does my brain. Where does the voice in my head even come from?] She’s talking to me right now, talking me through everything that finds itself on this page. I imagine Her voice tasting like black coffee, and Her breath smelling something like burning hair, because I believe She would light me on fire and swallow me feet first, but She doesn’t like the taste of burning cotton and that’s why I am never nude. It’s a form of protection. That’s what I tell myself. But, She reminds me that I’m never nude because I don’t like what I see when I look at myself. She tells me it’s really just that simple, isn’t it?