don't call me honey (love and loss comp)

dents in palms align  
forming in the initial phase of life  
outwards and inwards, smaller marks between  
arbitrarily placed,  
yet they seem to match mine.  
 
you were budding in spring  
the tongue touches the teeth,  
particularly hanging on the upper gums  
your lips were closed,  
but as that bud precedes a blossom,  
i awaited an opening  
 
lurking in an orbital motion,  
my mutualist ritual was yet to be performed  
others flew around, but never so close as to  
rest upon you, but rather to feed off of you  
as you felt it was your duty  
 
once i had pollon, it was established  
our names could be categorized as we  
though not close in distance, i felt them open  
hesitantly off your tongue, not escaping in a manner of  
water, but thick tar, nearly stuck to your lip  
 
not another, no, not budded nor blossomed, supplied  
pollon so ripely produced, so delicately you constructed yourself  
so radiant was your stamen, erected in my direction  
it was a greeting that came after 'hello'  
 
hopelessly, decaying petals outlined  
yet i couldn't see behind what you offered for me  
only until i returned for another treat of it  
you inclosed yourself, as if you were returning  
to your fetal state  
your hands clenched the palmar creases  
just as they mirrored mine  
 
even bee pollon expires.