~ELISE PASCHEN~

HIVE

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                    —For Stephen


Tucked in a cleft of arm you hunt
for milk.  Roseate.  Areola.

I circumnavigate the signs
pictured on your pajamas.  Arrows

point east and west; a violet hive;
bear:  tail end up in honey-pot.

Cars drone outside.  I comb back tufts
of hair.  We burrow in these chintz

pillows, sink deeply down in sofa.
For now, we are a pair spied on

by animals.  (A rabbit pokes
its ear, antennae-like, from under

cushions.) I’ve read "during the summer
honey flow, worker bees will travel

55,000 miles to gather
nectar to make one pound of honey."

A foot kicks off its sock.  You sip,
roaming many miles, honey-seeker.

Days tumble.  I would like to buzz
into the orchid of your ear.

 
 

© by Elise Paschen