Honey-Eyed

it was a crippled candy cane promise at best
the idea blooming in my mind
seeping out the edges
over the side of the bed
into a syrupy puddle on the floor

your arms wrapped hard around me
daylight an unwanted dream
I thought my thoughts
pouring honey in my ears
attracting ants marching up the wall

two by two they come
two by two

my world is dripping
sugaring my thighs into a sticky froth
spreading like peanut butter
your fingers find the way home
and you lick your lips twice

give it long enough
and sap becomes amber
deep within the chambers of my hive heart
queen of bees decorated teeth
my candied dreams pressed up against your back

deep breaths come
two by two
by two by two

and I stop
breathing that is
the river in my dreams thick as molasses
dark, rising up under my eyes
tearing down my face like frosted nightmares

my voice rather sticky
I find your flaxen skin under my fingertips

and march them
two by two by two
up the side of you body
slide my hand over your ribs
rest upon the flats of your belly
sticky fingers
sticky ideas

I close my eyes
thick in love
and you slip out the end of the sheets
sick of candy
pressing ants under your thumb
swatting bees from your eyes

and two by two
by a whole horde of fucking twos
I slip back down under a river of molasses
this wicked thing to do
opening my mouth
full of the blackest sugar
and scream

Bed-Bugged

I would not suggest to you
an extended vacation in my bed

for I toss and I turn
and I find myself uncomfortable
all the night long

I really am
a terrible bet
and a bear in the morning

do not dip your hand
below my waistband
in an attempt
at playful dawn reforestations

I might take it upon myself to bite you
to nip at your fingers
until you shriek
and take your hand back from me

I have sharp teeth
and I enjoy the taste of fingerprints

I am not particularly fond of your morning halitosis
I prefer to keep all the blankets to myself
your breath is making my neck hot
and I want my pillow back

no matter where I plan my legs
yours seem to be a tangle in the way
my arm has gone to sleep
while I plot my revenge with my own pins and needles

you are on my hair again
as you latch your hands onto my breasts
I am rolling and rolling and have nearly
rolled clean off the bed

I wish you would stop trying to sleep on top of me
didn't you read the sign on the way in
written in bold letters above the doorway?
It states my positions quite clearly:

"Don't Plan On Long Stays,
Please Depart With A Minimal Amount of Fuss,
You See, I'm Trying To Sleep,
And In All Actuality I Probably Hate Your Guts."