a ghazel
Kiik A.K.
I want the breast inhabited by bees
To erupt like honey in my mouth and over my hands
If the flower should pin back its wings
And wring the sheets of its maimed butterfly
I can see rubbing the moth of your name
Between my lips channels fire in the dark
I fight against the cricket pushing the sun
Toward its burrow like a grain of rice
But all existence invites punishment
Tied to your bed or otherwise
