I thought, when you flew over and asked in earnest
if my honey jar was ornamental, that we
would stick together, build hexagons.
I told you it wasn’t, then folded the sweet note
of your perceptions inside,
the way I kept found things; sacred and in use.
You’d got me. And I thought you’d got me.
It was me who had to say it —
that we were no longer making the buzz-honey.
Conversation had refined down to silence
marked out only by the occasional sting.
I thought you were the one I’d always seek the sweet with
but the bees knew, could see from the start that we
were never really ever going to fly far,
saw the way we seemed so fond of circles.
We spun round and separated into parts.
Our sweetness suffered from overspill, was lost.
Our knees, left empty as torn sugar packets.
The Bees Knees was first published in Poetry d’Amour 2022 anthology, WA Poets Inc. Available here.
Photo by Ekaterina Belinskaya via Pexels