You hate me. I can respect that.
After what your momma did to your daddy–
the lies like frozen honey, too cloudy
to look through–you can’t trust
a woman near him, like you have
an allergic reaction from proximity
alone, no need for a sting.
Darlin’, I’m not squabbling with you
or trying to buzz through your brain,
humming like some kind of queen
bee, asserting my superiority
whenever you enter my hive.
Think of him as the flower, me as the winged
creature drawn to his nectar. I worship
the nourishment he gives. Together
we’ll produce what your momma never could:
sugar so pure it melts.