the bee saga lives on

when we die out
fuck you pretty
there'll be barely green to protect you
only fading
rose tattos on fat arms and arses
baron petals
without the burrowed kiss
of gone
silent wings

a poem i wrote a while ago...yes sometimes i do still have them in me

You shatter,
hiding knives in bottles and
things I wouldn't understand.

Your song
sifts through the sea
with a low moan
and an ache,

waiting for time
to carry you-
over the waves,
held to shore.