What's The Buzz
Your kiss is mead. This bee is drunk,
and once devoured flowers are forgotten
in this current buzz, old fuzzy-headed me.
Pour into me, and I'll fall in your cup,
besotted by your jasmine mouth.
My daze slips into hours,
bedazzled by the flavors on your tongue.
I'm stunned by you and stumble hard,
poor bumble that I am.
But I would fall again, and then again,
to feel like I do now.
Karen Tellefsen
kat2@mindspring.com