A Honey-Tomb Of My Words

A thousand kind words entrance me.

I mumble to myself every night,

And trace the letters in the sky.

Looking for them, amidst The stars,

As I festo on the sky with the cascades of honey quaffing,

From your mouth.

Try to repeat it, like my favourite melody,

Try to write them down over and over,

Try to look at myself in the mirror,

Bedecked in these words, my now lithe self stands unstirred.

These are the bees of words,

They douse me in their honey,

Saccharine.

But these bees, they

They sting,

They leave pangs.

It takes the coalescing of myriad bees, to knit This honey,

From the threads of honeycomb.

The needle;

A sole bee that leaves a scar,

That taints your blood,

That ricochets through your tender flesh.

Echoes of that one word

Flit and buoy, around

In my head.

That one word, is enough

To splinter all of me.

Neither does it slip from my mouth, each night.

Nor do I use it, to bedeck my body.

Yet the ghosts and ghouls,

Flit in the zephyr,

And whisper it to me.

I try to quell their voices,

But they seep through my auricle.

And! why do I seldom discern this enigma,

That, the nectar was wrung from the flowers Inside of me.

From the amaranth, flowers inside my chest

And the hydrangea, clutching at my throat

As the pretty lilies sit under my lashes.

And bloom every time, a bead quaffs from my bleary eyes.

Bathed in nectar,

Perhaps there’s love, amidst these petals.

But, when the bees arrive,

And siphon off all the Love and nectar from my insides.

They leave behind gores and scars,

That make me forget, That love was ever made for oneself.

So I acquiesce; I give in to the void; I wilt.

I lay in void;

Always yearning for love.

As another pretty bumblebee, flutters her wings,

The bee of words, entrances me.

I’m scavenging through the beehive.

Tell me where have you hid those alluring words?

I want to reminisce then again.

Quench my thirst with the cascades of your honey.

Those are words, that I should’ve said to myself,

Long before you purloined my nectar,

Leaving me morose and acrid.