Many hundred aeons travelled,
Over many days.
Though I know, with certainty,
Just where all my love stays.
Like a bee to pollen, it is
Instinct, finding you,
As, if somewhere else it went,
All life would turn askew.
So give me all your nectar and
The usual clichés.
Pollinate, repopulate,
Until the end of days.
I promise not to sting you
If you promise not to *****,
For when it comes to both our love
No honey is as thick.