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.