Weaving a throw of golden pollen
The bees they are my messengers
They turn it into honey
Sticky sweet
pull apart
wings of lotus pull apart
rings of roses on fire
hands are over the pyre
huddled closely, my desire
my desire
my branches and rose briar
In the night bloom
keep it it my room
don't let it out
the gold dust of us
On another cycle
It should feel pure and triumphant
The bees are my messengers
But will they get back to me
Will they steal my honey
In the night bloom
Keep it in my room
don't let it out
the gold dust of us
Before the past consumes
Catch it in your hands
feel it dancing
and be moved by it
In the night bloom
it's inside you
you can tap into it
anytime
