Buzzing all over you like the taste of pollen, ruffling through the petals of your hair like the wind, on the wing. Honey-sweet honeysuckle on your lips, can't help but go tasting. But there's an echo of someone else in your smile, something vague when you look at me. There's a dream deferred there, and there's always disappointment for a moment when you wake up and find me next to you. In the morning, even as you slide and melt against me, beeswax in my arms and in my mouth, I feel like I'm chasing you and falling away from you.
There was trail of honey powder down your back after your shower the other night, and it brought me to my knees, tracing the road as it spiraled down your spine and over a hip. Your eyes were dark in the foggy mirrors of the bathroom, and your lips were pressed together like a vise, unsmiling before you remembered to laugh at me down there on the tiles.
I remember when it was me who made your eyes go black instead of brown, and when it was me you chased all up and down the stairs, laughing. I remember you buzzing around me like a honeybee. I remember posturing and posing, desperate to keep you circling, circling.
Now I'm chasing you all over the sheets and our home, your hive arranged with such perfect precision. I watch you wipe down the counters, watch you ruffle the curtains, clean up after breakfast (maple-sweet pancakes), polish up this place. I'm an imperfection when you turn your head to look at me, all sunshine-haired and swirled with queenly skirts. I'm necessary but not wanted, spinning and spinning.
The thing about necessary tools is you can replace them, and it hurts, knowing what's coming. I can't help but think that I should have died or left when you caught me. I should have seen when your eyes started skirting away, when your focus failed.
My mouth is dull and empty and bitter from the lack of you, from you turning a shoulder in the sheets, all flawless and elegant in your nudity and the silent line of your back.
Here's an image, a day coming soon. One day, posed with your wings shining, your honeysuckle hair wrapped tight with silk, your shimmering lips and your skin traced down with glimmering, sweet powder. One day, I can see you standing at the top of the stairs in another place, another home. One day, it will be someone else dull-eyed and dark fluttering about you, another drone circling in. I can see your lips parting from their press in a laugh. I can see your eyes, flirting and molten golden brown with them as they slip into your hive.
I can see the honeybees under your skin, love, and me climbing in underneath, chasing the sweet drip down in the dark. I can see you close your eyes and breathe me in, smoke-deep and tickling, before you exhale and simply, easily, blow me away.