A Bee's Nectar Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

There's a price
to pay for
a bee's nectar,

the sharp spear of taste
penetrating
tongue and throat
with a thousand needles
of sweetness

weaving showers
of jumping saliva

as you reel
off, a punched-out guest,
at the mouth
of a bee hive,

threaded labyrinths
of gold-clothed
bees swarming off

to seek shelter,
their mouths
full of a sting still
sinking slowly

like a hypodermic needle
into your burning flesh
in the smoke

and ashes of a scream
drowned
and choked by the buzzes
of goldenrod insects

floating in glass jackets
and bright shirts
over a prey

sipping the piercing
price of nectar
on a tongue too shredded

to land a savoring nerve
on the juice
of a sweet buzzing sting

still rolling over
dark and red tinder
over the roaring coals
of a sipping hearth.

(ii)

How long does
the hoopoe-mouthed
arrow of a sting last,
when the bird

flaps its wings
at your sinking wound
in a brush
of breeze and wind

sinking down
your throat, as you gulp
down nectar,

the swift river swerving
into that inner bowl

filtering off all clouds
of pain,

as you lick off
more crab-gripping honey
from the fire
of a beehive

waving the glow
and storm

of a honey harvester's
rumbling coals,
the river of sweetness
drowning you,

cleaving off
your arm's wings,
as you can
no longer swim off

a tide of sweetness
burning you
into the ashes of your tongue,
a sky's reddening dusk
full of blood.