Taniah Gibbs

Honey in the Afternoon

Sun spills through the slits of my aging blinds.

Rays reflect off of the ripples in my cooling tea.
You stick to the roof of my mouth like honey, but I don’t mind.

There are dips on the left side of my bed that you’ve left behind.
They know the curves of your body almost as intimately as me.
With you, in the afternoon, sun spills through the slits of my aging blinds.

You like your tea with three tea spoons of honey, it makes you unwind,
Legs loose where they encase my waist, close the way we should be.
You stick to the roof of my mouth like honey, but I don’t mind.

The sweat that slicks our skin dries beneath the blades of the fan while behind
Me you sign your name at the bottom of my spine. I smile and ask, Can you see
The way the afternoon leaves us behind, sun spilling through the slits of my aging blinds

I tell you that you taste sweet like honey. You smile softly, and I remind
Myself that you are mine to keep. Safe in a space where we don’t have to flee.
But whenever we do have to part you stick to the roof of my mouth like honey, but I don’t mind.

My love, sweet like honey, rich and vibrant, an intensity yet to be defined.
I ask that when we must part you handle me with mercy.
Leave me masked with the scent of your honey, wonderfully indulged.
Stay where you always do, stuck to the roof of my mouth like honey.