Honey

In the scorched grass you sit,

Beauty constant around you,

Busy like a silk-blue ribbon,

A silent moat.

Your skin shines in shade of me.

Bees flock in your general direction.

I admit, I am directionally challenged

When it comes to finding the lighthouse

That mounts towering, jagged rock,

And so you are not alone.

I want to take hold of your bones.

They are not unlike

Modern art through a window.

But so much sweeter than art.

Even sweeter than honey.

I never cared for the stuff.

I would take you over all the sweets

There ever was, and ever will be.