Bee Madrigal

O, king of scented dust, pantalooned

and drowsy in the treasure houses of the sun,

your seductions leave you rumpled.

Sticky, drunken bumbler rolling

your burly fleece in the navel of the rose,

looped on pink attar and pillage

or rapine among the foxgloves – harems

of belled skirts tossed and ravaged.

Like an arrow to the mark, your tumultuous

adoration; grasping what you love and wooing

not with gifts or speeches, but with desire

aflame and rampant on the fields to coax

the sugared wet from swooning blooms or

powder up your pelt with rare perfumes.

Ever fickle, lustful as a youth

visiting each pretty flounce and petal,

stroke hot the honeysuckle curves

cling to the arch of scarlet balm

flit redolent of vapored sighs from bed to bed:

licorice and honey, peppered spice, dewy

gems of lemon or vanilla.

And now, rough lover, fat and sated

thrust your golden girth against the air.

The day is summer-stung and fleeting;

your bright inamorati fold against the night.

No passion stays the dark, but cools,


on that starry breast.

– Elizabeth Yon


2 thoughts on “Bee Madrigal

  1. Elizabeth,

    I think… I might just need a cigarette after that. Wow! That’s sensuous on so many levels! Woo Whoo! Love how your poem builds to such a satisfying and fulfilling climax! So right on the mark though… isn’t it? Nature always draws us toward its vast and majestic bounties and shares with us its immortality.

    Love it!

    Brother John
    Lansdowne, Pennsylvania USA


    1. Nature extends the ultimate sensual experience, showing us what we really mean when we use those words, “sensual” and “sensuous”. We analyze these experiences too much, or confuse them. They are pure and visceral, and don’t really need to be thought to death (although this poem is also a kind of analysis).

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