They say the bees are in trouble
That flowers may soon be
Absent when attendance
On Earth is taken
That the red of tomatoes
The buxom purple of eggplants
The stain of boysenberry
Thimbleberry blackberry red rasping berries
Have numbered days
They say the bees are
Hungry lonely sick and
That they no longer dance.
We have given them too much of what
They don’t want
Taken away what little they need.
The handmaids of sex
The midwives of ovaries
The acolytes of nectar
Magic dust
Secret errands
Blossoming trysts
Serving pleasure to plants
Fleshy fruits to palates
It would be infinitely lonelier without
The bees the berries the flowers all that
Fertility
For now
A tree waits
Petals a riot of silken seduction
Open receptive engorged
Only for the lover
The perfect lover
