the yogis have a word for it

In me where I sit,
where you started
that spinning
and the spinning
wound around
my spine like a staircase
past unhinged belly door,
around forgetful  heart,
past empty throne
of my teeming
honeycomb head,
the door found its swing
and fast, let you in, my heart
became a ticking metronome
for your songs,
the drones found
their rightful queen,
and now the whole
place drips honey.


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