Ashley Rollend

Honeyboy

Touching your goodness, I feel like a woman
With bees cupped in her hand, a suffocated
Buzzing, a secret between flesh. You might think
This makes me cruel or unloving, but the honey
Comb still grows between my fingers and there
Is always a warm yellow light flashing behind
My eyes.

And when the night gets cold, perhaps
I will put the bees in my pockets or in
The holes of my sweater or in my ears,
So I can always hear their distant voices
And syrupy laughter. Perhaps, when they
Fall asleep, I will rip their wings from
Their bodies and press them on my
Tongue, waiting for them to
Dissolve. What would you call a sweet
Goodness that’s gone bad, that keeps me
Warm and soft and silent?