You are sunshine sugar,
and honeyed smiles;
sweet and bright and golden.
And maybe- if I got over myself-- my need
to rub aloe vera into charred flesh
would be undue--
but I refuse to apologize
for wearing sunscreen.
Laughter wells up
from deep underground,
smiles drawn forth by your radiance.
A moth to a flame.
The moment passes and I can feel your honey
seeping out of my pores
as the smile melts from my face,
contorting my features
and encasing memories in amber.
It hurts so much more--
the numbness, the nothing
that rattles my bones
and sings of stars and somedays--
when I know how sweet it tastes,
when I’ve remnants of sugar cubes
melting off my tongue.
You’re angry i’m hurting,
I’m hurt that you’re angry--
that you would prefer
for me to laugh loud,
and suffer silent--
seen but not heard.
I don’t want this vile sickness,
clinging to my flesh like the stench
of dead things rot-- but it does.
You cannot fault me that, please
all I ask is a little humanity--
and perhaps some honey with my tea.
(I love you-- I know you love me too, but sometimes I wish you’d say it.)