Rob Davies

Years past,
eras come and gone.

Life as a bee isn’t easy,
or fair,
always being driven and forced,
to share.

I stand, I stare
I wonder, where?

I return from work after dark,
praying there’s something left of my car.

Lost as I quivered, surprising touch.
As you first clasped my hand,
jumped my heart, opened to our embrace.

Lost as I teetered over luscious lips,
remembered breasts, hands and legs.
Pea…