your hand was in between my knees we
were rocking to the radio
I was starting to see the bees

you were loving the bees into the guitars in
the memory of a poppy field overflowing, in
my shoes
and my suitcase and in my bows
and arrows too, I thought there were
bees inside my bones, and kept thinking of you

there were bees in the ashtray, bees in the heather, bees in
the datura and bee blossoms everywhere, heard
there was nectar sweet and lambskin gloves, and bees in all
the air, and the bees were slung like bullets at the memory
of your body like a prayer

and the bees keep on coming, they’re pouring underneath
the door, there’s a bee light in the overhead and a bee song
in my head, I’m thinking about your body now, dancing
around my room to the music of
a little bee groove, there’s foxglove and an apologist
who’s preaching up a storm, and bees in the words,
bees in the sawdust, bees that probably will, and I would
and I did and I love you, and I loved it when the bees appeared,
now they’re lining the walls, they’re stocking the eaves,
bees in the cabernet, bees in the organ, bee filament
in the light bulb swinging overhead,
I’ve got the radio on to pick up every sound.