There's bee pollen all over his room, and I lick some from his walls every time I visit.
He invites me to share a cup of coffee; strong, and black. I usually take a dash of soy
but being in his presence makes me forget that bitterness exists.

"No one ever likes the taste of pollen." He says, leveling me softly with his gaze, "Not
even me."

I finger a few granules of suspended life cycles and wonder at this. I taste the beauty
in this room and try to fathom why other people don't. I come to the conclusion that most
just don't know how to put their entire being into some things.

I observe the fact that he doesn't wear underwear and he observes the fact that I am androgynous.

I plant seeds intimately throughout his hair that I'm not entirely sure will grow.

I can only hope.