It began beneath a hot tick
Slipping off the clock like honey
Landing in a small, round summer,
Existing inside a piece of fruit
We stayed soft ,
We dabbled in sweat and citrus from the sunrises.
We were hornets
Molly tossed herself against the glass
I watched the yellow  chip off her back,
I watched it gather on the bottom of the jar
I loved her carefully
Until summer rotted
I loved her while being smothered
By the guts of a dying, edible season
I loved until it was all mixed
Hornets, hours, and fruits
In a jar