the last thing he gave me
was a small jar of honey from his beehive
this is it in the picture
the sweetness of honey the sting of bees
not a bad way to remember him by
though i exaggerate some
it wasn’t like we were lovers or even friends
he was someone i almost knew
it was just the promise that was there
i suppose like a flower
in keeping with the honey bee metaphor
he was a flower i gazed upon
his beauty was that alluring
and his body and his regard moved in concert
with a warm spirit so like the sun
his name was george and wherever he is
wherever the sun finds him
for the kindness he showed me
for this jar of honey
i wish him well