I uncurl at the sight of you.

July 29, 2025
I am a hummingbird tongue, tucked to the back
of my own skull.
I shouldn’t fly, but I do.
All wings moving too fast, yet slow, to a bumblebee
pacing the flowers,
holding air from gravity,
holding court.
I uncurl at the sight of you.
Pollen clings to my legs
and your whispers sip my ears.
Always, always waiting on sweetness
that does not come.



