The Nectar of Us

Your lips bloom gold under the sun,  

dripping honey like whispered promises between breaths.  

Bees float to you as if summoned,  

a thousand tiny hearts finding their compass.

The air thickens, cloaked in amber sweetness,  

and I am no different from them.  

Drawn to the pull of your shine,  

my own lips aching for the taste.

I imagine the bees don't mind  

sharing–your nectar spreads endlessly,  

a softness never spent,  

always pouring, always more.

When you speak, it feels like  

time slows to a pulse—warm, steady, vast.  

I lean closer, trying to catch  

every drop before it lands unseen.

There are entire galaxies between mouths,  

but your golden glow shortens the distance.  

When your lips touch mine,  

the bees hum softly, retreating into the dusk.