Ambrosia

I.

His eyes peek through the clouds after a monsoon

like shimmering yellow draped from the sky.

II.

I only wish I could have missed him this time.

This . . . time

with his golden honey words catching the sun and blinding me.

III.

He burned me, but steadfast

I cupped my hands beneath his chin;

prayers spilling from my lips, and from his

spilled the sweetest murmur of piano keys-

IV.

If . . . If I could catch but one; hold it dear to my heart

with wax trickling from my eyes, I would say, “This is my proof.”

V.

The light is too bright and I melt into the honey;

sticky and saccharine in my palms.

The words get muddled- a puzzle.

VI.

You used to say there was a missing piece

where my hand met the steady oscillations of your chest, and I

would listen so close for the faintest sign

like birds tasting the morning dew before swooping down over the ravine.

VII.

I did not hear the thrum of hummingbirds in the spring.

VIII.

I would have liked to think the honey from your lips

would have been that missing piece;

if only you could see what I see.