Magic

You lift the thorny curtain of bees.
They long to disperse
To rare black orchids
But follow the hypnosis of your hands
As all of nature
And occult
Must feel obligation to pleasure you.
You spread out my obedient flesh
To saw me in half under lavender lights,
Your preoccupied kiss, half a promise
Of reassembly.
You turn me into a tiger instead.
This is not what we rehearsed.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell
The better from the worse.