Words for the Chisel (collection)/Swarm

by Genevieve Taggard

Swarm

Ethereal energy, airy lust,
Intangible madness,—these have made
A 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.