Teasing Mielina

by Amit Parmessur

If spring has another face, it’s yours;
on each thread of your holy head
there’s a golden drop of honey.
There are flaming swords always
busy carrying beauty
from one pink lip to another.
And in the honeycomb of your
brown eyes dwells a child,
buzzing with stingy questions,
while adoring divine idols
more than her own saintly soul.
As solid as your chair,
as parliamentary as owls
sits a queen who knows
honey isn’t far from the sting.
Your voice cuts
my morning blues and urges
my scars to commit suicide like
drones crashing into hard clouds.
Like you, the future promised
to last forever and
when you play in the rain
to whet your moles made from
two million flowers
I always go
tell the bees of you;
your dream isn’t to spy on
the moon and honey making
wild love on their honeymoon;
it’s to hear me hum your name
before I enter the ocean.