A Tenant Is He Poem by Mark Heathcote

A tenant is he, the would-be bee
To husband a flower.
That wishes not, her ambles free
In fear of the seed-plougher

O her rose of purest white
Now crimsons the purple night
Clings ravenous the oak bower
That would-be sting endower

O she would, encapsulate
All of his space and time
O she would, emasculate
Him, bring him into her climbs.

Bring him into her watchtower
He, a homeless tenant and outlier
He is her man of the hour
He is to be her bee emulsifier.