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There goes the best part of me
A bee cries, losing his stinger
 Long held at the ready
I give it away
Exposed innards
Font a forever river to the sea
A menthol balm attends the open wound

Indian Hot Tea

Why did they forgo the spice
 in the mystical concoction?
Milky smooth holding the bitter
The food burns with taste
My mouth aches to remember
A sip, ah, rekindles the embers

What Are You Doing This Weekend?

Giving you my heart
That you may play with it
 like a kitten
Sink your claws into its fuzzy chord
Pounce and gnaw at it
 just for fun
Embrace it with forepaws
 while kicking it with hind legs
Reduce its responsive tautness
 to a scatter of thread
And, should you blink,
 realizing you are caught
  in its tangle
Snip, snip, snip