i waited for you to

deposit bumble bees down my

throat with your mouth

 

they will safely disarm their stingers

and bring them all to me in a square envelope

‘shake it’ i tell you

 

the stingers become the poem i wanted to write

a really lovely one that tells you you’re a campfire warming my nose

that you’re pretty

<that we should get naked quiet slowly>

 

it isn’t all roses though

it feels thorny somehow

yeah, i say, ‘i meant to take those out’

<something birds, something expectations>

 

my throat and limbs are

fuzzy i say

but you find this, contradictory.

 

 

feb09 – brennan mcmullen

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