i’m not
entirely sure
who all my
honeyed poems
are about.

but if it’s you,
i beg,
please come.
i’ve been waiting for
you since day
one.

lemon trees and a
strawberry breeze
taunt the winds of
you.

i pick a flower,
remember its
honey-tinted power,
and toss it in hopes of
you.

your cherry-kissed
hair and the
sea-blown air are the
definition of
you.

i cry into your
skin, beg for you to
love me from within,
and i’ll spend
peach-lit days with
you.

ambrosia and nectar
taste sweeter when the
field is full of
hydrangeas, the colors
bleeding from lilac to
cerulean to
meadow-sweet salmon,

and you and i are
strewn upon them,
limbs entangled, our
fingers grasping for
our own slice of

sky.

an ivory scoop of
sunrise tastes wonderful
when i’m with you.

wildflower honeydrops

rain from the sky.



your wings catch them,

******* them dry,

******* the

caramelized-love

you and i share.



she is buttered with

cocoa, with almonds,

with dry seeds of

pomegranates that

sink their way into the



sun-soaked river,

rosewater bleeding

into your skin, memories

flowing along with the

fuchsia flowers that

bake their ways into

vanilla-creamed

frosting.



stars of

crystallized honey lay

warm on my thighs;

the gooey butterscotch

picks up the stars,

throws them into the

sugared black coffee above

me.



he curls his fingers

around peppermints that

sprout from

leaves of minted

rich chocolate, his

mouth growing

calm from cooling

springtime that

fades into a deep,

strawberry-burst

summer.

a handful of

sunflower seeds

sprinkled into my

empty, drought-filled stomach.



a bumble bee came to

pollinate the

garden that had

implanted itself into my

****-encased lungs,

snaking around my

ribs,

blossoming with

lilies,

daisies,

chrysanthemums and

roses of all hues.



no gardener tends to the

flurry of stems that

wrap around my wrists,

springing up my forearms and

swallowing my bare *******.



the grass grows

through my cheeks,

little pebbles sprinkling and

dancing across my nose and

underneath my eyelids,

dousing themselves in the

river that waters the

grass and

smooths the rocks,

flowing fast with

hot, salty waves.



i hadn't realized until the

flutter burned that

a sparrow had

lodged its way into my

heart,



banging against my

aorta-colored birdcage with

anger and longing to

smell the lilies and

taste the sunflower seeds,

but most of all to



unstick itself from

under my sewage-filled tongue,

away from the

pesticide white teeth,

to shoot out from

behind my dirt-encrusted

lips and break free of the

earth-churned stink of my

breath.



the sparrow and my

seed-filled stomach, watching you and

wishing as he sat

trapped inside my heart -

slamming;

spinning;

cracking;

aching -

that he could



swarm into the

breathened blue sky;

pour out from my

weeded lungs and

sickly stomach, and



spread his word-washed

wings,

painted with the

colors of the flowers that

we

had once planted together from the

sunflower seeds that

gutted him;



his own garden growing but

cutting off as he

spiraled under the

tepid spring sun;



dreaming.



just wishing,

suffocating,

swimming through

tubes and veins,

doused in

thick blood until he was

weighed down,

dragging,

drowsy from the

weight of the world that

seemed to rest on his soft,

minuscule shoulders.



red blood cells seeming to

win over the war that

raged in my body,

closing in on the

sparrow,

coaxing him away from the

delicious seeds and the

pleasure-filled garden until he



broke free at last,



leaving my body to

crumble into the soil as

the sparrow discovered something

much more desirable:



your heart,

and



together,

my sparrow beat

right alongside with

your robin,



swimming away from the

seeds and setting eyes on

what he truly wanted:



a field of sunflowers.