Wednesday, April 17, 2013


I eat it up
That last lick
Of warm honey
I find
At the bottom
Of the jar
My tongue
To reach deep
Then lingering
On the grooves
Near where
The lid loosens
Where the sweetness
Hides in the
Folds of glass
The tip of my tongue
Missing not a drop
The golden cream
The busy bees
Churned up,
The taste of it
Warming me
From the inside out
That amazing nectar
I can’t live

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