Your Honey.

by mindracernotchaser

I never told anyone that you slipped your hands
into me like I was a substance
you needed to get in between your fingers to
understand.

I was too ashamed to admit that you
wore the same face
when you were unbuttoning my jeans
as when you dipped into a jar of honey.

Didn’t want people to know that your eyes were 
as beady as when you 
examined the yellow goo on your nail,
smelt it, then licked it up.

No, I was too afraid to tell them that if you could,
you would shove me into a jar,
slap a label on me,
and pull me out on the rare occasion to whisper:
So sweet,
so strange.

Because I always wanted to be
more than your
honey.

 

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