I ate the honeycomb whole and now there are bees

inside me. a leaf drips out of my underwear; I try to

look human today. my panic—unrelenting, my ball

-gown gone missing, somewhere under the blossoms.

in the nights, I return to him often, to the place where

slept our bodies, young and peaceful, and I wonder if

he also returns, if we happen to meet, if he would kiss

me a little in the closets—touch like a long-awaited

relief. we lay down our honeyknives, we lay ourselves

down in quiet, feeling our way toward a sweetness,

toward my insides humming.