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, antenna-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.
Elise Paschen
from Bestiary, forthcoming from Red Hen Press in the spring of 2009. Copyright Elise Paschen and used with permission of the author.
