Whenever I hear your voice, I’m a beekeeper,
My hand in the honey of the droning hive;
I can hear a cat purring inside a pyramid,
Conch waves, music box with ballerina,
Your voice pregnant with love,
Sprawling bedsheets stirring in dreams,
Spring wafting its aura into the room,
Waking us to love, to sleep, to more dreams.
Whenever I hear your voice, I’m kissed
By the shape of your mouth, warmth of your lips,
And flesh of its naked sound, the wild honey
Of hearing you from the inside.