She started with a smile, speaking of her past
And all the flyers that she has ever met
And all that have left.
What then do I offer her?
Stillness in the air, running out of space,
She says, “I like your curls.
Would you like a drink?” I ask for tea, but, thinking
I have to fly lower, I start to sink.
She gets closer to me
And say’s “do you want me?”
How do I answer her warmth and body
Pressing tighter, offering her my wings,
Lips tender, and hands
Pushing mine over her hips
With familiar intimacy?
I smile looking back at my past
In the arms of a spring flower;
Like an awakened winter bee.