Cherry And The Bees

And so she smiled that smile.

The one he thinks is real

Cherry red and bitten inside

A bitter stone lodged in her throat

Swallowing hard keeps the bees down

Churning like molten amber in her belly

And swarming loudly in her chest

Beneath her heart if such a thing

Gulping down his medicine

A good Sunday girl.

How long before one slips out

Spiked legs pushing through glossy flesh

And hissing angry truths into the world

And then another

Dropping hard onto the crisp white linen

Scattering bloody bile

And still they would come.

One for each word she never spoke

For each time it didn’t matter

And yes, after all, he was probably right.

She smiled that smile.

It’s nearly full in there.