Honey

I eat it up

That last lick

Of warm honey

I find

At the bottom

Of the jar

Straining

My tongue

To reach deep

Inside,

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

Without