without sparking, the hum of the honey bees remained

along with that dripping liquid treasure they'd made

once collected, this fine gold of theirs long ago stolen

from the rich center of their creation where we laid

flippant, he tossed it all away with closed hands

turning on the view's beauty from his enamoured eyes

the lasting tilted halo of such spare seconds denied

silhouettes pulled down upon our night shaded lies

yet she finds him there when midnight moons are blue

and lonely stars tell tall tales of the earth's sad dismay

so briefly does he flicker by on those warm shooting suns

with so much left within her that she still meant to say

down below making honey on hot summer afternoons

between the legs of desire and the land dug in deep

how they taste each others growing in wide open fields

with kisses to hush mouths and the secrets they keep