Words for the Chisel (collection)/Swarm

by Genevieve Taggard

Swarm

Ethereal energy, airy lust,Intangible madness,—these have madeA bee-like cloud about her head.

The coward, the coward is running home,To hide herself in a bed of dust—To huddle into an ugly bed.Underground they can never come.

She broke and ate their honeycomb.Over her belly the bees will hum.