Poetry

Now I am used to 
betrayals. 
I don’t hit back 
in the vanishing light. 
 
Very frightening, 
I will say. 
Sightless bats hovering 
round your head. 
 
Have started playing 
the game with the nettle. 
I will take the stings 
and give you back honey. 
 
An intimate kiss of a 
naked beetle. 
Are you coming for the 
last supper?