Julia Brush,

Melissophobic, alas,
I caught the bee on her lips,
honey of her kiss,
I swear Gods of Olympus don’t know
fire like I do.

I was such a cynic when we met,
Now they call me Delphic.
I always spoke in riddles, but with her
another tongue, all mysteries mine,
none but the signs inscribed sing
over my wrists, between hips,
something divine of my underworld.

Should venom be my ends, her mending,
Still sweet would coins upon my eyes lay.