I used to write forest fires into existence
Some words roll off tongues and drip out
of mouths like honey
Well mine aren’t quite as sweet
How could I speak of sweetness
when there’s so many bee stings to endure
And wounds
To bandage up  
Honey,
I know my letters have stopped coming
I just got tired of the burned fingertips and the blisters on my tongue
You will hear from me if the spring ever does come  
and I have only good and lovely things to speak of


                                                            ­-m.g.