italian sweat bee



Waiting for the beach bee to sting me
As I roast my back in the Italian sun,
Trains passing,
Topless tits roasting
And I see flecks of dried Ligurian salt water gathering
In the marrow of the bee's sting ..

The little guy has me outnumbered and
He knows the terrain much better ..

Not even the sea gull or strangers or my lover can help me now ..

Listening and smelling the salt and
Wine from last night,
The bee moves and moves more ..

I hear it & blink at its shadow ..

It has my number and it is mocking my pile of skin
In Poor man's Rivera ..

All right
You tiny fuck,
Lick my blood if you may,
But It's much too blue and wet
Out here for me to kill you ..

So,
Get your point ready,
Pal ..

I've made mine ..