- Vol. 04
- Chapter 07
I have decided that love is not possible between the bee and the flower.
I tried, swaying on painted legs perfecting a palette of every hue, some would say gaudy.
Perfumed and pouting I fluttered, I needed you.
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me
but you always supped on the purple one and sated flew away.
Consumed, I am deserting the fecundity of colour, developing a fondness for fermenting.
I crave the comfort of a malodorous descent into a silent Sunday, living on my back.