salival

hanging out with the downstairs neighbors my feet were tickled by the furry carapice of a honeybee
i precautiously ensured that i wouldn't move my foot to avoid irritating it
nobody wants a beesting in between their big and corresponding other toes
i grew accustomed to the furriness under my feet and forgot
all about the bee
i lifted my feet in preparation to light another dunhill
and noticed the bee's form tucked where my feet once rested
curled up into a small ball it looked
comfortable
and dead.
i lifted up it's lifeless remains with a pink flyswatter
and prayed that it wasn't a bad omen
i decided it's signifigance could be determinant on a number of factors
a friend i had just met the night before legally named honey
an old friend's terrible ellergy to bees
my father visiting in a few short hours
the conclusion was
i was a comfortable place for those who were passing into the next phase of life
like the elderly lady i danced with into the glass ballroom of heaven
dying pulsebeeps like percussion to sn everslowing
waltz
my eyes caught the many eyes of the bee
i blew the bee off of the flyswatter
(so it appeared to the downstairs neighbors)
iinternally my mouth puckered into a kiss for the soul of another insect
who needed somewhere warm to die.
and i close my eyes and lift my chin to the sun
bless the insects
and rejoice in the lack of a specific omen
and pray to not be haunted by furry wingbreath on my feet