Poetry and Poetics
Tucked in a cleft of arm you hunt
for milk. Roseate. Areola.
I circumnavigate the signs
pictured on your pajamas. Arrows
point east and west; a violet hive;
bear: tail end up in honey-pot.
Cars drone outside. I comb back tufts
of hair. We burrow in these chintz
pillows, sink deeply down in sofa.
For now, we are a pair spied on
by animals. (A rabbit pokes
its ear, antennae-like, from under
cushions.) I’ve read "during the summer
honey flow, worker bees will travel
55,000 miles to gather
nectar to make one pound of honey."
A foot kicks off its sock. You sip,
roaming many miles, honey-seeker.
Days tumble. I would like to buzz
into the orchid of your ear.
© by Elise Paschen
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