Maybe,
I could spread a thousand constellations on the ceiling of your palms
--dig them honeysuckle deep into my ridges;
& to be blind to the oncoming melodies, when the blue and black bees come singing
i will sweep the petals under my eyes and blink them,
shuttered shut.
& we will still remain, intertwined:
fingerstems of you in my skin
will those cluster bees follow me
bleed their ink into my serenity