Honey

first poem

Hot honey,

and apple cider.

But it’s not in the season? you say.

“Oh yes, I know, my dear.

But it’s what I fear.”

“Fear what?”

“That…well, if I don’t stay out

of season, then you’ll tire

of me.”

“But husband, lover; It isn’t about turning into a fat,

big bear. But that you care, you share. Like

dun dun du duh da; the beat of the snare.

If you continue to bring to me the snow and the air.”

For it isn’t about anything but the simplicity of it all.

The smooth grain textures,

on the bare white skin.

They’re rubbing together,

and we call it sin.

You can’t lose anything together, better,

forever, never.