Michael Keshigian: HONEYCOMB BLUES

This is how it used to be with him and his lover, she taught him a new song every morning, a different line with her head on the pillow, climbing the stairway of his spine with a weightless melody until it filled his brain and he sang as he rolled over to lock his lips around hers so she might sugar his mouth with more honey, her tongue tipping sweet words backwards in his throat. The day was longing after mornings like that, sunlight a lonely companion, though the song droned like bees in the hive all day in his head. Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.