I Swallow the Seeds

I swallow the seeds in every bite; juice
floats down my chin. I run naked, screaming
toward a nest of honey bees. I relish—
the barbs embed my stomach, my arms,
my face and legs. The venom blitzes
through my blood, screeching in
my arteries. The bees, slower, flutter
around my rage and hope until they
drop—from the air—dead. I make
desperate angels in the corpses
begging every God I can invent
the names of. As the twitching stills
into silence, the Queen shuffles from
her home and, bearing a grief so profound
curls herself gently, her soft and fragile,
into the psalm of my hand. With great
effort, she unsheathes her weapon and
offers it to me with quiet dignity.
Understanding, I accept the blade and
hover it above her wrinkled fur. I wait
for a moment, for last words—
of which I know she has none; still
we breathe out in unison, and I
plunge this through her tensed body
and into mine. She writhes, wraiths—
no complaint, contempt, or spite
Tears and tears on my skin, I cry.
I swallow the seeds in every bite.