Perhaps it was that champagne five-o’clock light slanting through our glass walls, golden-warm like honey we licked straight from hive
Yes, perhaps it was those low, sun-softened shadows, that silky honey-light dribbling lazily through our window glazing my corneas blurring my vision and the lines I drew between us
Our honey-dipped conversation flowed smoothly, the summer bleached hairs on the back of my neck swayed in tandem to our words and your fingers as they worked loose the knots in the sinew cocooning my spine
Perhaps that is why those words – so viscous in the twelve o’clock light that they almost choke me as I try to regurgitate them – flowed up my windpipe Smoothly as warm honey drips from the edge of a butterknife
Or
Perhaps it was the rosé painted across your cheeks like sincerity Or the way those crushed velvet fingertips painted my cheeks to match yours and pressed my eyelids shut
Do not blame me for the honey pooling at the corners of my lips for the wine stains on my cheeks
Do not forget it was you who fed me honey who intoxicated me with colours of the eight o’clock sunset who wrapped me in velvet who bid the sun linger awhile longer in my sky
Do not forget the words I said were words you gave me Do not blame me when they spill from the edges of my mouth