Are back, drifting like
Liquid seeds.
They are nothing sinister.
Just like your sister.
Smiling with no intent,
Seemingly hellbent on tearing
Your body away from your hands.
Chewing your neck like taffy.
She can keep her virginity
If she's even got it.
Buttercups
Dusted with snow.
They pucker before dismantling
The stinger
Of the Blind Bee.
Her
Not Me.
The gargoyle plants a sprig of mint,
To keep the conversation clean.
I envy his stone-gaze clarity.
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