Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		David Mohan Honeycomb A jar is not enough for our bedroom. We want the first comb unbroken, broken open over your lips, my chest. We want the source of sweetness, the buzzing hive's heart sap. Addressing the Weather I tell the rain, 'This is the end for us, I will not listen to your blather. I will not walk in your weather.' I tell the wind, 'We've reached pause - while pressure builds above, I skim the shallows underneath.' I tell the sun, 'Once you were everything, but now I've moved on, (address withheld), to bathe my face in earth. Next Poem
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