Honey bee collects nectar
Honeycombs with honey
Intruders get stung
Honey still tastes sweet

As an offering of peace
she brought him cherries
to sweeten the tense air.

Plump black cherries
mouthwateringly ripe,
polished to perfection.

'Shall I come with my brimming bowl?'
she asked.
'Shall we selfishly gorge in secret before
they are over?'

Desiring her sweetness
he feathered her with kisses,
dropped the blind against
a flaming sun and callers-
yielded to sweetness.

Sweet her cherried fingers,
sweet her skin, her lips,
her tongue.

She plied him with cherries,
fed his desire stalk after stalk,
the whole room burnished
with passion.

When twilight seeped in,
they lay cherry - heavy,
clinging to sweetness.

'The secret is ours, he teased,
thoughts turned towards
a handful of dropped,
forgotten stones.

A glowing ember I once was
Now all I feel as if I all I do is sit upon the colour blue, wetted by dissipating champagne fizz whilst being kept afloat by curved cold glass
The bottom of the bath is scaled with confusion and differently shaped stresses
An unquenchable vanity lies within
The clumps of gold leaf I dust my cereal with has blocked up my veins
When I think about kissing you my brain floods with the taste of the reddest, sweetest cherries, only within this act the most vivid aspect of my mind is lit up as if it were a neon light display
Only within the flow of this electric current I am gloriously and contently happy

The first time
I slipped inside her,
I felt every single beat
of her fiery-heart,
inhaled her breaths
of fresh primal-air
& tasted the fragrance
of her gorgeous hair.

And in her firm grip,
the grasp of her pretty flower,
she swallowed my soul,
took me deep
forever.

The girl with vintage dresses and flowers in her hair
is not as naive as you think she is.
With every toss of her satin-black locks,
she'll have you wrapped up around her finger.

The girl with red lipstick and flushed cheeks,
is not as shy as you think she is. 
She's disguising her thoughts; 
she's planning the entire universe in her head. 

The girl with a different book each day in her hand,
is already writing her own
with memories of those who have scarred her
and transformed her into 
the girl with vintage dresses and flowers in her hair
who now has the power to maneuver her way into your thoughts,
and **** you with nothing but a stare.

She would often take long walks,
Long walks on a forest path, she hated walking around city blocks.

She would walk with such grace,
As her brunette hair brushed her dress trimmed with lace.

She would walk into a sunny glade,
The only place that wasn't filled with shade.

There she would lay in the evening sun,
The only place she didn't have to run.

She would dance all the time,
This was her place where she could be free to rhyme.

Then she would sit down and put flowers in her hair,
Here, she didn't need to hide from peoples staring stares.

Then she would begin to walk when it was time to go,
Before she would leave, the wind would begin to blow.

Knocking out the flowers in her hair,
She would then be exposed to their dark stares.

The flowers drifted in the wind,
And landed on the soft grass, may this be a reminder.

That I won't give you a dark stare,
If you my dear, decide to put flowers in your hair.