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Honey

It's awe-inspiring and attention-consuming,
the way we buzz and breath, the way
we create our own culture
within a rose-esque diagram of desire,

ephemeral honeymoon phase emotions
shifting imperceptibly to fragrant blossoms
and fractal light of potential.

Glow of gilded honeysuckle overwhelms
as we wander honeycomb mazes
asking if this dares to be forever,
if we've stumbled upon forever.

We delight in royal jelly, find infinite
joy in a floral kiss and the kismet of leaves,
how when left to their own devices
we mold them on accident, make our own nature.

It comes naturally, this oscillation of drifting
between solitary and communal hives
as the overarching wish draws them closer,

pollen stinging our lungs,
nectar sweetly prevailing.
The one true question.

Like queen bees we feast on lovely food,
revel in the present,
find we relate to each other through less
cultivated speech as the wafting smoke lulls.

We transfer gold;
it sticks to our feet and tangles in our hair
and understands our fingertips
as we undermine our own ability to drink virtue.

Leaf venation mirrors our winged form, asks
where we managed to discover
extra and excess and more and more.

Yellow stripes our vision,
radiant haze of yes and amen,
the way our zeal hovers, the way
we float in the zephyr breath.

--Trianne H., Adult