Today's poem is by Debra Wierenga
Hives
Not ones with wasps — although that hectic buzz
beneath the skin suggests there just might be
some angry bees in there, trapped in your blood's
hot attic, swarming just under your eaves —
but carnal ones that leave you breathless
with itch that's penance for sin,
and hoist the red flags of fleshly excess
and write your vice on your skin —those vats where greed's green honey ferments
liqueur of exquisite need,
the undeniable urge that repents,
rewards, and castigates — the searing sweet
ecstatic scratch of pleasurable pain
that satisfies, then cries for more of the same.
Copyright © 2007 Debra Wierenga All rights reserved
from Diner
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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