Mercieca, Andrew - aaaah....how I have missed your creations. Fantastic images that you've painted here.
Mos.
More in Hopefully Apathetic
of orange blossoms and death
Mother has gone to a funeral,
though not her own.
I pray for swarms of bees, thousands
of incessant wings drumming
to mute the sound of her suffering.
Their stingers bloody her fingers
as a needle would a dressmaker's,
too haughty for a thimble.
They've built hives on her tongue.
She is all mouth; infinite swarm,
and I in my flower print dress
she made for me,
her blood still on my cuff.
Mercieca, Andrew - 
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