conditioning the thread

i find you in the beeswax model
of our house. soon it will melt in the sun's
devil belly but for now, the world
is sweet & gold. you tell me,
"i want you to love me like 
when we first met. like a wave
ready to swallow me whole."
can you forget how to beg? i run
my fingers through your hair. 
we pinch off handfuls of wax. pull
our thread through the soft tacky masses. 
i love to condition the thread. 
we can teach the strands not to fray 
just by showing them our bones. 
then, the soft scent of honey on
my fingers. honey on my skin. 
the bees in their coffins. the bees
in the walls. all autumn you begged me
to let you eat them. there was a nest.
their larva like quotations. words passed
between us in the dark. with the thread
we stitch beads to our fingers. i try to remember
what i used to say to you when our love
was fresh & un-wintered.  the figs 
i grew from my ears. i tell you,
"in another life we made the wax. we
found each other as bees on a flower.
escaped the hive. died full & rested 
in the mouth of a fat hydrangea's skull.