The bee's kiss

Photography by Patrice Commune

The moth's kiss, first!

Kiss me as if you made me believe

You were not sure, this eve,

How my face, your flower, had pursed

Its petals up; so, here and there

You brush it, till I grow aware

Who wants me, and widen ope I burst.

The bee's kiss, now!

Kiss me as if you enter'd gay

My heart at some noonday,

A bud that dares not disallow

The claim, so all is render'd up,

And passively its shatter'd cup

Over your head to sleep I bow.

In a Gondola by Robert Browning