Wasp Dreams

To be loved that much.

Wrapped in white thread

becalmed with strange brew

given to keep him still,

he receives her

and so ends the struggle to live.

She holds the cocoon

that holds his yellow striped back,

keeps his black sting from tearing

apart her world.

She holds his body

in her own sun and moon embrace.

She enters gently,

grateful for this lover

who comes after the long harlot wait

at the open window.

The red light of the late afternoon sun

illuminates her long slender legs,

the way they shimmer

shameless with sleek dark hair.

This could be a certain district in Amsterdam

rather than mountain certain Western North Carolina.

Or like women in the ancient temples, how she welcomes all

who come bearing gifts for a taste of the dark interiors.

When morning comes, he is still and silent.

Her legs like arms reach around him.

Her mouth opens again and again.

Ignoring all but who has entered her bed,

she loves him long past the dawn

then releases his husk to the cool earth.

She makes her bed, spreads the pale threads smooth

and tidy for the next guest’s pleasure.

Taking her place in the center, she waits.