The Bees (Part Three)

Flora, Titian, 1515-1517, oil on canvas, Uffizi Gallery

I am on my knees before them
yet, they remain
strangely
unaware

They are driven by sonar
and the redolent aromas
of roses, lilies, and honeysuckle
deliciously oblivious

directs them symphonically
in a Queenly manner
They are steadfastly
autonomous

whilst our need for them persists unabated
unrelenting
they do not know this,

they do not care
they can remain, or not,
yet our bodies cleave to them
out of need and fear
like a lover

too late to swoon,
already smitten, we bow our head to them unabashed,
unblushing, swelling, our loins
how they redden and surge,

the blood coalescing in that warm reservoir
betwixt our knees
They have us at their mercy
on bended knee

Too late to say we are sorry
Too late to take it back
We suckle at their breast
unapologetically
our heads downcast, where we belong

We have done this to you,
We are sorry we scream
Can you hear us?

But, the air is thick with oils
smelt and acrid noxious plumes
funneling and curling
poisonous pudding
which pollutes our bellies

We need to woo them
We need to LOVE THEM
Even as we fear them
acknowledge the want of them

Unrequited we dance, alone
the tune still in our heads
our arms outstretched waiting for them
beseeching them to take us in

Blood, Bone, and Stone, Copyright © 2013 Aria Ligi, Mighty Muse Productions