In the evening
the house is
buzzing

with bees that
sting and

we eat their
honey as our blood
sugar drops

with the temperature

you squeezed my
hand and thought
that we connected

but the sound
of your voice
is more of an
echo than a
hum

and the darkness
in your eyes
frightens me

we've met before,
you say,

we used to swap
our hearts beneath
red sheets

but your
face is not one that
I see when I
close my eyes

your grip on me
is not one that
comforts me

and the darkness
in your eyes

(that frightens me)

just makes me think
of a man I met once
blind drunk on a
Wednesday afternoon

and the hold he had
of my arm
when I tried to turn
away