Honeycomb Blues
by Michael Keshigian



This is how it used to be
with him and his lover,
she taught him
a new song
every morning,
a different line
with her head
on the pillow,
climbing the stairway
of his spine
with a weightless melody
until it filled his brain
and he sang
as he rolled over
to lock his lips
around hers
so she might sugar his mouth
with more honey,
her tongue tipping sweet melodies
backwards in his throat.
The day was longing
after mornings like that,
sunlight a lonely companion,
though the song droned
like bees in the hive
all day in his head.






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