Sweetly, you break the dawn in my chest,
honeyed light drips through the cracks of my rust.
I was winter—bare, bitter, breathless—
you leaned in, summer on your tongue,
whispered spring into the marrow.
Every sugar-footstep of yours
echoes like church bells in my hollow ribs;
I answer, amen, with a throat full of bees.
Sweetly, I bleed nectar,
sweetly, I bloom where your shadow lingers,
until the night itself tastes like your name.