You’re a bee
Golden and black,
not the kind that gives honey, buzzes around flowers,
the kind that stings
At first I thought it was self defence
At first I thought you would die like I did
when you left your sting borrowed in soft flesh,
But you returned
again
and
again
each time leaving a little bit more of youself
snagged in skin
It takes weeks for my blood to wash out your poison.
Yet you,
...