I want to be your precious thing, your soft-and-sweet, your honey bee. Let me give you my arms and legs beneath the elbows and the knees. I’ll crawl for you; walk hunch-back on the slender points for hands and feet that you make for me. Fashion my wings from ribs and rice paper; I’ll wear them on my shoulders in leather stitches, watch them shiver, translucent, webbed gauzy. I’ll be your favorite insect; I’ll sleep at your feet, between your sheets and do everything that you ask of me, so see. We’ll slot together, your body and mine, like machine-parts, joints, a lock and key. I’ll be your pet, your love, your dirty little nothing, and your perfect honey bee.
