palinode to melancholy

never trust a bee,
no matter what’s the song they sing,
or jig they dance, or nectar bring,
not because they bite or sting,
not because their queen is cruel,
but because her lies are true,
slipping from her bee-mouth’s goo,
bursting on her palate, juice-ripe you~~
and the husk she’ll hang aloft,
cushioned ’mongst the trophies soft,
oh so soft, that melancholy’s due…
so she bids thee ’dieu, adieu,
mandibles bespecked, bestained, bedewed,
as she pins you to the tray,
limbs out-strewn, heart out-splayed,
beautifully, like me.