Wild Honey

It’s a wild honey night. Listen fierce. Check a pulse. All flowers
match the sunlight. Tonight, crawl with me. Quick with stride.
We’ve seen this before, death. But when we died we never became
Rest I guess we were meant to be left– alive. Snapped twitch
breathing–warm–anything but misery, sure. We are not indecisive we
just know that’s not what we’re looking for. We float around,
watching people get tattoos of things we’ve said wondering if they
know that that’s the wrong kind of pain.
     It’s a lonely story night. It’s a
pain to control your might, it’s exhausting to try and take a bow
after finding out that there’s no honey. And the night is just as
timid as you are.