The Bees

we share a culture same vernacular

love of physical humor and time spent alone

you with your penchant for spontaneous events

for sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone

you are a gift promised sent with a wink

with tendencies for conversations that raise bars

you are a sage who is fueled by compassion

comes to nooks and crannies, is bound for all stars

you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle

you make the knees of my bees weak

you are a spirit that knows of no limit

that knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends

you are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers

not seduced by illusions of fair-weather friends

you are a vision who lives by the signals of

stomach and intuition as your guide

you are a sliver of god on a platter

who walks what he talks and who cops when he's lied

END

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