Honeycomb

I have felt no one since I loved you any sensation percolates my membrane like juice through a honeycomb our final moments buoy in the bluebell’s cup – then I forgot to bite the full moon, Luna, your mistress for this sixteen hour journey call her Luna, tell if her craters are similar to my breasts. I sleep I sleep I sleep but when I awake I will be forever aroused. It was that ambivalent phone call, “I miss you and I will hate you for several seconds if you don’t mind,” that severed my nerve endings. Piercing my ear the next week there was the thought, a novel philosophy, just a tingle that I was carving out a part of me that still loved you. I have felt nothing since, I have been a statuette like Miss Liberty in the pond: said she stands just like me, well, what if I got my bow what if I shot an arrow through every piece of astronomy you find more worth in than me. Miss Luna, the Estrellas, even your sol can feel me break them but I will not feel any of that from you.