Drones Seek The Bee Orchids Poem by Melissa Morphew

again, again, smearing themselves with pollen,
false mating which ends in exhaustion; the gardener
shows her the labellum, swollen like a bitten lip,
a bee’s abdomen, coquettish brown-bee-down,
exuding pheromones of bee lust; he cups
a drunken bee in his hand, puts it to her ear—
loovvvvvvvvvve—
uncups the bee, palm unstung;
love, love, the word throbs her wrist, a razor cut,
but this is retrospect
his shirt smells of rosemary, his fingers of lemon thyme,
his eyes dark as winter solstice
and she, lacking an astrology