I'm sorry I have a beard of bees.

Stinging you was a nightmare.

I thought it'd make you into honey.

My swarm retreated to the hive.

Every drone cried. Their wings

fell off, their eyes saw wounds,

not flowers, wherever they looked.

The queen buried herself in a cell,

crystallized in sugar, a bitter in

sweetness. You stayed in the ER

for a thousand and one nights.

I told stories about seven thieves

who fought wasps on an island.

They found treasure chests, parrots,

a ship loaded with black cannons.

Becoming pirates, they chased

after a galleon filled with spices.

When they boarded they discovered

no one was there. A machine-

operated voice declared that gold

wasn't worth this. They collapsed

through rotted boards into the sea.

A shark ate them, nibbling each

with the care and love of a mother.

The bits of their bodies burned

the shark into smoke, became

bees, my beard of bees, and they

are thieves who've stolen you

from life, pirates who've sank

our hopes, and a shark that bites

whatever's around, no matter

how much it might destroy itself.