Nonsense

How can we teach each other, my sweet tooth. How can we speak?
What of that strange tongue of yours, my stallion, that nonsense that you speak!
	Bless that mischief of yours, keep it close to me.
	Just listen to me, my lover, just listen as I speak.
	Listen to the flow of this mountain’s peak.
	Look at how it emerges from the rest;
Do you smell that, my cherished cherry? Do you sense that stench of shame?
Are you here with me, my dove, are you here in the haze?
	Show me your spark, my beloved;
	Show me what makes you turn.
	At least pretend to listen to me, my lover
	While I tell you of the bee.
The bee spun its restless woes,
	I am afraid of being from this place
	I’d rather not remember
	It shall find me in the arms of another;
	Already smiling, all warm and tender.
The tree told the bee,
	It is a part of you; you can’t stay here.
	You can’t keep doing this my little worker bee;
	Who are you pleasing in your demented precociousness?
	Is there something you want to tell me?
And the bemoaned bee made its cries--

But it couldn’t work its words.

They were too heavy for one bee alone.
So the tree remained;
The bee continued its bee duties
And the hive shook with stillness;
its honey, waiting.