This Harp Inside of Me

bee stings get louder,

rattle their way

into the car.

heat slows the speed

of their wings.

they hover

and wait.

this world is

soft-boiled.

what’s love?

what’s love?

what turns up

in the dark?

this harp inside of me

barely sings.

I am blessed

with an instrument

that cannot wail.

he goes to kiss me

and tastes nothing

but salt.