|
Thoughtless thrumming his waistband, |
|
thumbs hooked in belt loops carelessly, |
|
gently steering from the hip, |
|
winding through the canopy. |
|
Soft shoulders and swatting pines, |
|
the canopy closes in, |
|
chain kicks slack and useless, |
|
tires carve crescents in the grass. |
|
"Haven't you seen enough to know for sure |
|
to look for me. Oh, Honeybee." |
|
"Haven't I seen you on the backs of motorbikes, |
|
whirring through tunnels into the prickly light, |
|
past the lava fields, through the lemon groves, |
|
bare legs kicked out from the sting of chrome? |
|
Haven't I seen you on the backs of motorbikes, |
|
head tucked just inside the roar, |
|
in the stillness between his shoulder blades?" |
|
...hold this hollow so dear |
|
just like the ones before. |
|
Just like the ones stripped bare |
|
by the swollen sea... |
|
these boys, so familiar; |
|
these boys, so slippery. |
|
Just like the ones you left for me, |
|
oh Honeybee. |
|
You have fallen to sleeping |
|
in this brindled light, |
|
freckles in blooms cascading |
|
from pink shoulders into the white... |
|
the down below, |
|
the untouched touched, |
|
these pattered down places, a mess. |
|
I'm waiting for the rise to fall, |
|
knuckle to your lips, |
|
waiting for the rise to fall, |
|
the fallen to rise. |
|
Waiting by the swollen sea. |
|
"Oh, Honeybee, please answer me. |
|
Oh, Honeybee..." |
