Monday, April 18, 2016

Waggle Dance

Your voice is not just the wide-open blossom
it's the buzzing, dancing bumblebee that collects
the bright spray' of pollen,
it's the delicate geometry of the comb,
it's the drop of honey that lands on my tongue
to...I'm sorry, I can't keep this up,
this kind of shit always seems so corny but
these sensations, these feelings are real and maybe it's best
to try not to talk about them but you know how it is when you're
stung, you want to scream from the rooftops,
you want the whole world to share in your
obnoxious fucking blissful insufferable madness,
you feel like if you try to contain it your entire being
will pop like a swollen balloon, it's so
goddamn disgusting but there it is your voice
your smile your hands I fucking love you god damn it, it's
probably going to kill me with a million tiny barbs
and the sad thing is I don't even care, I can't even be bothered
to try to cloak this feeling in poetry, anyways I have a feeling
it wouldn't let itself be bound by such
flimsy constraints, you swat one and
a thousand others swarm to take its
place I love you little bee let's drown
in this nectar together god damn it I can't
believe I just said that

No comments:

Post a Comment